954 
IB  167 

a 


^'%L.        •^"-iiL 


UC-NRLF 


*B    54^    acjcj 


k 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


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PAM'  KEI>F>l>rPTI<>. 

COMiiAUKS.     <i  Acts.     I'vicfi  2-^ 

TITAN lA.    A  Fairy  I'lay  for  Child  .    Price  25  cis 

i  OUR  FOI^KS.     3  Acts.     Prioe  15  c. ., 
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THE  GLOOaS. 


(  BOSTOl'i: 

3-EO.   :r.vi.  .sj^m:i5.  ^c  CO. 


:ii  h;'  Gv-.t.  ;i.  i;.i;;-r,  i3ro.         |j 


Comedy 


Tivree  Acts.    Translated  from  German  by  George  M 


Urs.  IValthrop's  Bachelors, 

Baker.     25  cents. 

The  Fairy  or  the  Fountain.    Play  for  Little  Folks.    Two  Acts.    By  George  M.  Baker.   85  cent* 
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Jnt'le   R4>t»ert.     Corredv  in  Three  A.ct8.    7  male,  1  female  character.    ]t>  cents. 
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A  Ccllection  of  uuMi^^uita,  Dn.AMAS,  ami    iAuCE:s.  adapts  to  either  Public  or  PrivcUa 
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PRICE,  15  CENTS   EACH.     OS"  No  Plays  Exchanged. 


11. 

y  12. 

14 
15. 
16. 


LOST  nr  LONDON.    A  Drama  in  3  Acts. 

6  uiale,  4  female  characters. 
NICHOLAS    FLAM.    A  Comedy  in  2  Acta. 

By  J.  B.  Buckstone.    5  male,  3  female  char. 
THE  -WELSH  GIF.L.    A  Comedy  in  1  Act. 

By  Mrs.  Flauche.    3  male,  2  female  char. 
JOHN  WOPPS.     A   Farce    in   1  Act     By 

W.  E.  Suter.    4  male,  2  leniale  char. 
THE  TTJEKISH  BATH.    A  Farce  in  1  Act. 

By   Montague  Williams  and  F.  C.  Bumand. 

6  male,  1  female  char. 
THE   TWO    PTJDDIFOOTS.    A  Farce  in  1 

Act    By  J.  M.  Morton.    3  male,  3  female  char. 
OLD    HONESTY.      A  Comic   Drama   in   2 

Acts.    By  J.  M.  ilorton.    5  male- 2  female  char. 
TWO    GENTLEMEN    IN     A    FIX-     A 

Farce  in  1  Act.    By  W.  E.  Suter.    2  male  char. 
SMASHINGTON   GOIT.    A  Farce  in  I  Act. 

By  T.  J.  Williams.     5  male,  3  female  char. 
TWO  HEADS  BETTER  THAN  ONE.  A 

Farce  in  1  Act.     By  Lenox  Home.    4  male, 

1  female  char. 
JOHN  DOBBS.    A  Farce  in  1  Act  ByJ.M. 

Morton.    5  male,  2  female  char. 
THE  DAUGHTER  of  the  REGIMENT. 

A  Drama  in  2  Acta.     By  Edward  litzbail, 

6  male,  2  female  char. 
AUNT  CHARLOTTE'S  MAID.  A  Farce  in  1 

Act.   By  J.  M.  Morton.    3  male,  3  female  char. 
BROTHER  BILL  AND  ME.    A  Farce  in 

1  Act    By  W.  E.  Suter.   4  male,  3  female  char. 
DONE    ON   BOTH    SIDES.    A  Farce  in  I 

Act   By  J.  M.  Morton.    3  male,  2  female  char. 
DUNDUCKETTT'S  PICNIC.   A  Farce  in  1 

*  -t.   By  T.  J.  Williams.  G  male,  3  female  char. 

E  WRITTEN  TO  BROWNE.  A  Farce 

1  Act    By  T.  J.  Williams.  4  male,  3  female 

tr. 

...    PRECIOUS    BETSY.    A  Farce  in  1 

Act  By  J.  M.  Morton.    4  male,  4  female  char. 
M"X    TURN   NEXT.     A  Farce  in  1  Act   By 

T.  J.  Wiiiiams.   4  male,  S  female  char. 
THE  PHANTOM  BREAKFAST.  A  Farce 

in  1  Act  By  Chas.  Seiby.  ;;  male,  2  female  char. 
DANDELION'S  DODrj-ES.     A  Farce  in  1 

Act  By  T.  J.  Williams.    4  male,  2  female  char. 
A  SLICE  OP  LUCK.   A  Farce  in  1  Act   By 

J.  M.  Morton.   4  male,  2  female  char. 
ALWAYS    INTENDED.     A  Comedy  in  1 

Act  By  Horace  Wigan.   3  male,  3  female  char. 
A  BULL  IN  A  CHINA  SHOP.  A  Comedy 

in  2  Acts.    By  Charles  Matthews.    6  male,  4 

female  char. 
ANOTHER  GLASS.  A  Drama  in  1  Act  By 

Thomas  Morton.    C  male,  3  female  char. 
BOWLED    OUT.     A  Farce  in  1  Act   ByH. 

T.  Craven.   4  male,  3  female  char. 
COUSIN  TOM.    A  Commedietta  in  1  Act.  By 

Geo.  Roberts.    3  male,  2  female  char. 
SARAH'S  YOUNG   MAN.     A  Farce  in  1 

Act     By  W.  E.  Suter.   3  male,  3  female  char. 
HIT  HIM,  HE  HAS  NO  FRIENDS.    A 

Farce  in  i  Act.    By  E.  Yates  and  N.  II.  Har- 
rington-  7  male,  3  female  char. 
THE   CHRISTENING.    A  Farce  in  1  Act. 

By  J.  B.  Buckstone.   5  male  6  female  char. 
A  RACE  FOR  A  WIDOW.     A  Farce  in  1 

Act.   By  T.  J.  Williams.  5  male,  4  female  char. 
YOUR  LIFE'S  IN  DANGER.    A  Farce  in 

1  Act.    By  J.  M.  Morton.  3  male,  3  female  char. 
TRUE  UNTO  DEATH.    A  Drama  in  2  Acts. 

By  J.  Sheridan  Knowles.  6  male,  2  female  char. 


36.  DIAMOND  CUT  DIAMOND.  A' 

in  1  Act.   By  W.  H.  Murray.    10  mal 

char. 
87.  LOOK  .^:PTZR  BROWN.   A  Farce  In  1  Act. 

By  George  A.  Stuart,  M.  D.   6  male,  1  femaie 

char. 

38.  MONSEIGNEUR.    A  Drama  in  3  Acts.    By 

Thomas  Archer.   15  male,  3  female  char. 

39.  A  VERY  PLEASANT  EVENING.  A 

Farce  in  1  Act.   By  W.  E.  Suter.   3  niale  char. 

40.  BROTHER  BEN.    A  Farce  in  1  Act    By  J. 

M.  Morton.   3  male,  3  female  char. 

41.  ONLY  A  CLOD.    A  Comic  Drama  in  1  Act 

By  J.  P.  Simpson.    4  male,  1  female  char. 

42.  GA  SPARDO     THE     GONDOLIER.      A 

Dran^a  in  3  Acts.   By  George  Aimar.    10  male, 
2  female  cliar. 

43.  SUNSHINE  THROUGH  THE  CLOUDS. 

A  Drairia  in  1  Act.    By  Slingsby  Lawrence.    3 
male,  3  female  char. 

44.  DON'T  JUDGE  BY  APPEARANCES.    A 

Farce  in  1  Act.     By  J.  M.  Morton.     3  male,  2 
female  char. 

45.  NURSEY  CHICKWEED.   A  Farce  in  1  Act 

By  T.  J.  Wi.liams.   4  male,  2  female  char. 

46.  MARY  MOO ;  or,  Which  shall  I  Marry? 

A  Farce  in  1  Act    By  W.  £.  Suter.   2  male,  1 
female  char. 

47.  EAST  LYITNE.    A  Drama  in  5  Acts.  8  male, 

7  female  char. 

48.  THE  HIDDEN  HAND.  A  Drama  in  5  Acts. 

By  Robert  Jones.   IG  male,  7  female  char. 

49.  SILVERSTONE'S  WAGER.   A  Commedi- 

etta in  1  Act.   By  R.  R.  Andrews.   4  male,  3  fe- 
male char. 

50.  DORA.   A  Pastoral  Drama  in  3  Acts.   By  Chas. 

Reade.    6  male,  2  female  char. 

55.  THil  WIFE'S  SECRET.  A  Play  in  5  Acts. 
By  Geo.  W,  Lovell.   10  male,  2  female  ch.\r. 

66.  THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOOD.  A  Com- 
edy in  3  Acts,  By  Tom  Taylor.  10  malp,  S  ic- 
male  char. 

57.  PUTKINS  -,  Heir  l3  Castles  in  the  Air. 

A  Comic  Drama  i:i  i  Act   By  W.  R.  Emersou. 

2  male,  2  fc  i  ale  char. 

58.  AN  UGT.Y  CUSTOMER.    A  Farce  in  1  Act 

By  Thomas  J.  Williams.   3  male,  2  female  cJiar. 

59.  BLUE  AND  CHERRY.  A  Comedy  in  1  Act 

3  male,  2  female  char. 

60.  A  DOUBTFUL  VICTORY.   A  Comedy  in 

1  Act.    3  male,  2  fcni..le  char. 

61.  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.    A  Drama  in  3 

Acts.    8  male,  7  female  char. 

62.  WHICH  WILL  HAVE  HIM?   A  Vaude- 

ville.   1  male,  2  female  char. 

63.  MADAM  IS  ABED.    A  Vaudeville  in  1  Act 

2  male,  2  female  char. 

64.  THE  ANONYMOUS  KISS.    A  Vaudeville. 

2  male,  2  female  char. 

65.  THE  CLEFT  STICK.    A  Comedy  m  3  Acts. 

o  male,  3  female  char. 

66.  A  SOLDIER.   A   SAILOR,  A  TINKER, 

AND  A  TAILOR.   A  Farce  in  1  Ac :»  4  male, 
2  female  char. 

67.  GIVE  A  DOG  A    BAD  NAME.    A  Farce. 

2  male,  2  female  char. 

68.  DAMON    AND    PYTHIAS.      A   Farce.    6 

male,  4  female  char. 

69.  A  HUSBAND  TO  ORDER.   A  Serio-comic 

Drama  in  2  Acts.    5  male,  3  femaie  char. 

70.  PAYABLE   ON   DEMAND.     A  Domestic 

Drama  in  2  Acts.    7  male,  1  female  char. 


Descriptive  Catalogue  mailed  free  on  application  to 

Geo.  M.  Baker  &  Co.,  47  Franklin  St.,  Boston .^ 


'^ 


ABOVE   THE    CLOUDS. 


BY   THE    AHTIiOH  uif- 

•fc».v'^*''  sold\«t,     'Once  on  a  Time,"  *' Dow^n  uy  the  Sea,"  "Ih-c.-d  on  the  ■Watera,* 

^hi,  Last  Loaf,"  "  Stand  by  the  Flag,"  "  The  Tempter,"  "  A  Drop  Too  Much,"  "  ^  Vrt 

411  Teetotallera,"   "A  Little  More  Cider,"  ''Thirty  Minutes  for  Refreshmentg 

•*  Wanted,  a  Male  Cook,"  "  A  Sea  of  Troubles,"  "  Freedom  of  the  Press,"  "/- 

Close  Shave,"  "  The  Great  Elixir,"  "  The  Man  with  the  Demijohn,"  "  NeTJ? 

'Vooms  Sweep  Clean,"  "  Humors  of  the  Strike,"  "  My  Uncle  the  Captain,* 

^•The  Greatest  Plague  in  Life,"  "  No  Cure,  No  Pay,"  "The  Grecial? 

''^ud,"  "  The  War  of  the    Roses,"  "  Lightheart'<«    Piigrima^et" 

*■  The  Sculptor's  Triumph,"  "  Too  Late  for  the  Train,"  "  Sn<>w- 

Hound,"  "  The  Peddler  of  Very  Nice,"  "  Bonbons,"  "  Capu- 

Vetta,"  "An  Original  Idea,"  "Enlisted  for  the  War," 

'  Never  Say  Die,"  "  The  Champion  of  her  Sex," 

**The    Visions   of    Freedom,"    "The    Merry 

Christmas  of  the  Old  Woman  who  lived  in  a 

Shoe,"  "  The  Tournament  of  Idylcourt," 

**A    Thorn    among     the    Roses-** 

**  A    Christmas    Carol," 

**  One    Hundred 

fears  Ago," 

fcc. 


BOSTON : 
milorge  m.  ^aker  and  ^OMPANY, 

41^5  FiiANKLiN  Street. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1876, 

Bv  George  M.  Baker, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  W.vOiington. 


Boston: 

Stereotyped  and  Printed  by 

Kand,  a  very,  &  Co. 


-zynMoo.  . ,  /^ 


ABOVE   THE   CLOUDS, 


A   DRAMA   IN  TWO  ACTS. 


CHARACTERS. 


Philip  Ringold,  **  Crazy  Phil,"  a  Mountain  Hermit. 
Alfred  Thorpe,  a  City  Nabob. 
Amos  Gaylord,  a  Country  Gentleman. 
Howard  Gaylord,  his  Son. 
Titus  Tcrtle,  a  Gourmand. 
Curtis  Chipman,  ^'  Chips"  in  the  Rough. 
Nat  Naylor,  Thorpe's  Protege. 
Grace  Ingalls,  a  Young  Artist. 
Hester  Thorne,  Gay  lord's  Housekeeper. 
>^SusY  Gaylord,  Gaylord's  Daugliter. 
liUCKETiA  Gerbish,  "  SO  Tomantic." 


COSTUMES. 


RiNGOLD.  Age  40.  Full  black  beard;  thick,  curly  wig;  slouck 
hat;  long  boots;  light  coat,  buttoned  at  the  waist;  blue 
shirt,  with  black  handkerchief  knotted  at  the  neck ;  coiiai 
of  shirt  rolled  over  coat. 

Alfred  Thorpe.  Age  50.  White,  curly  hair;  white  side* 
whiskers ;  fashionable  dress ;  kids,  and  dress  hat. 

99 


M52209 


100  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Amos  Gaylord.    Age  60.    White  wig ;  smooth  face ;   nankeen 

vest  and  pants ;  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons  ;  white  tie. 
Howard  Gaylord.  Age  24.    First  Dress  ;  Dark  cutaway  coat ; 

neat  red  shirt,  with    black  neckerchief  loosely   tied ;  dark 

pants,   with  leather  leggings ;  wide-awake    hat.  —  Second 

Dress :  Neat  and  tasty  suit. 
Turtle.     Age  40.     Made   up  "fat";  fashionable  fancy   suit; 

red,  curly  hair ;  side- whiskers,  and  plump,  red  face. 
Curtis.     Age  20.  Rough  suit ;  pants,  coat,  and  vest ;  light  hat ; 

light  hair. 
Nat.    Age  20.   First  Dress  :    A  light  suit ;  green  necktie ;  green 

gloves ;  straw  hat,  with  a  green   ribbon.  —  Second  Dress  : 

Fashionable    evening    dress;    white    tie;  dress   coat;  hair 

light,  long,  parted  in  the  middle. 
Grace.     Age  18.     First  Dress :  Pretty-figured  muslin,  or  blue 

or  brown  cambric,  fashionably  cut.  —  Second  Dress  :  White 

muslin. 
Hester  Thorne.     Age  40.     Brown  or  gray  dress,  with  collar 

and  cuffs  ;  fine,  white  wig.    Face  made  up  young  and  rosy. 
SusT.    Age  17.  First  Dress  :  Figured  muslin,  with  white  apron  ; 

long  ear-rings.     Second  Dress  :  Neat  evening-dress. 
LucRETiA.     Age  30.     First  Dress :  Travelling-dress,  as  showy 

as  possible;  face  made  up  wrinkled;  very  red  cheeks;  a 

profusion   of  red   curls,  and  a  black  patch  on  left  cheek. 

Second   Dress :    Light   fabric,  with  ribbons  and   bows  of 

scarlet. 


STAGE    DIRECTIONS. 

R.,  right;  c,  centre;  l.,  left;  l.  c,  left  centre;  r.  c,  right 
centre;  l.  1  e.,  left  first  entrance;  r.  1  e.,  right  first  entrance; 
FLAT,  scene  at  back  of  stage ;  b.  u.  e.,  right  upper  entrance. 


»   >  3    J  •  »    , 


ABOVE    THE    CLOUDS. 


Act  I. — Scene  :  Boom  in  Gatlord's  house.  In  flat  c, 
open  doorway^  hacked  by  lattice-work^  with  vine  run- 
ni?iy  up  it,  l.  oJ^  door,  a  long  windoio,  showing  a  rail- 
ing hacking  it,  and  heyond  that,  shrubbery  ;  the  pas- 
sage-way off  is  through  door,  then  past  window,  and 
offij.  Long  curtains  at  window  ;  a  vase  of  flowers 
standing  on  the  stage  at  backof  open  door;  flat  plain 
from  door  to  r.  with  a  picture  hanging  on  it;  long 
window  R.  next  flat,  with  long  curtain;  lounge  at 
window  R.,  hack  to  flat ;  small  table  at  window  l.  c, 
with  flowers  and  hooks  upon  it ;  chair  front  of  it. 
Door  L.  halfway  up  stage  ;  arm-chair  l.  Entrance 
R.  Easel,  with  picture  on  it,  hack  to  audience,  near 
window  R.  Grace  seated  painting,  Howard  stand- 
ing c,  leaning  on  a  gun,  hat  in  hand,  watching  her, 

Grace,  And  you  really  like  my  picture,  Mr.  Gay- 
lord? 

Howard,  Like  it,  Miss  Grace  ?  It's  a  bit  of  Nature 
filched  from  our  grand  old  mountain  so  cleverly,  that  I 
wonder  it  does  not  give  one  of  its  thunder-growls  in 
protest  of  the  robbery. 

Grace,  It  will  be  growled  at  by  those  monsters  the 
art-critics.     They   will   not  spare  a  single  tree,  or  a 

101 


103    .  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 


u 


stone,  in  my  Mountain-Picture.  Ah,  if  they  were  only 
i.'s  kiridly-(}i^p6s^d  as  ypujire,  I  should  not  fear. 

Howard,  Don't  place  me  among  them,  Miss  Grace. 
I'm  but  a  rough-handed  farmer,  who  would  be  laughed 
at  in  such  company. 

Grace,     Yet  you  are  an  artist. 

Howard,     At  ploughing  —  yes. 

Grace,  You  may  laugli ;  but  you  are  a  true  ailist. 
Yon  wooded  valley,  stretching  to  the  distant  river; 
yon  towering  mountain,  lifting  its  head  above  the 
clouds,  thrill  me  with  delight,  as  a  holiday  sight  glad- 
dens the  heart  of  the  child.  But  to  you  they  are  daily 
life.  As  the  order,  peace,  and  love  of  a  household  fill 
the  heart  of  the  child  with  all  good  impulses,  so  the 
clear  mountain  air  you  breathe,  the  majesty  of  Nature 
in  its  grand  sublimity,  train  the  eye  to  beauty,  the  soul 
to  harmony,  the  heart  to  inspiration,  —  all  unconscious 
iiiiluences  which  make  you  a  critic  whose  praise  is 
worth  the  winning. 

Howard,     You  are  enthusiastic. 

Grace.  Thank  you.  I  am  winning  favor;  for  with- 
out enthusiasm  how  could  we  poor  artists  live? 

Howard,  Then  you  like  our  rough  lifie  here,  far 
above  the  busy,  bustling  world  ? 

Grace,  Like  it?  To  be  free  from  the  thraldom  of 
city  life,  its  crowded,  bustling  streets,  its  mockery  of 
comfort,  its  greed  and  avarice,  crime  and  folly,  is  to 
me  as  welcome,  as  joyous,  as  must  be  the  sunlight  to 
tiie  prisoner  for  years  confined  in  gloomy  dungeons. 

Howard.  And  you  could  forsake  all  that  —  could  b« 
happy  here? 


ABOVE    THE   CLOUDS.  01 

Grace.    Forever. 

Howard,  O  Grace, — Miss  Ingalls, —  you  know  not 
what  pleasure  that  confession  gives  rae.  If  I  might 
hope  — 

{Miter   Susy,  door  l.,  with  a  pan  of  apples  and  a 
knife.) 

Susy,     O,  I  beg  your  pardon.     Do  I  intrude  ? 

Grace.  No,  indeed,  Susy.  I  was  just  giving  a  few 
finishing  touches  to  my  picture,  and  Howard  —  Mr. 
Gaylord  —  was  admiring  the  color  of  my  sky. 

Howard.     Yes,  Susy,  that's  all. 

Susy.  O !  {Aside)  Admiring  the  color !  They've 
both  got  an  extra  quantity  of  red  in  their  faces.  {Sits 
in  arm-chair.)  The  reflection  of  the  picture,  I  sup- 
pose.   {Pares  apples.) 

Grace.     Are  those  hanging-clouds  light  enough? 

Howard.  Exactly  the  tints  displayed  at  sunset. 
But  to  my  mind,  that  quaint  scene  above  the  clouds  is 
the  beauty  of  the  picture.  Ringold's  Nest,  we  call  it 
—  Crazy  Phil's  rocky  hut. 

Grace.  The  Hermit  of  the  Mountain.  I  long  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  this  mysterious  hero  of  the  Peak. 

Howard.  I  am  expecting  him  here  every  moment; 
but  you  must  look  at  him  outside,  for  he  never  enters 
a  house.     I  go  gunning  with  him  to-day. 

Grace.     Gunning  with  a  crazy  man  ? 

Howard.  Phil  is  not  crazy.  His  eccentricities  have 
gained  him  that  title  here.  Ten  years  ago  he  passed 
through  here  to  the  Peak,  and  took  possession  of  the 
rude  hut  upon  its  summit.  A  wan,  ragged,  and  hag- 
gard man.     Occasionally  he  comes  into  our  streets,  but 


104  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

shuns  our  abodes.  His  mountain  life  has  made  a  new 
man  of  him ;  improved  his  health  and  spirits ;  and  I 
want  no  better  companion  on  a  tramp,  no  wiser  friend 
in  council,  than  Phil  Ringold. 

Grace.     And  his  past  history  ? 

Howard,  Is  a  sealed  book.  Occasionally,  in  fits  of 
abstraction,  he  mutters  hoarsely  of  a  faithless  wife,  a 
lost  child,  a  false  friend ;  but  when  I  question  him,  he 
is  silent. 

Grrace,  Brave  fellow  !  Foiled  in  his  battle  with  the 
world,  he  turns  his  back  upon  it,  and  in  Nature's  sol- 
itudes fashions  a  new  life  and  battles  with  himself. 

Howard,  One  would  imagine,  from  your  poor 
opinion  of  the  world  you  have  left,  that  even  you  — 
young,  talented,  and  —  well,  it  is  the  truth  — beautiful, 
had  met  with  disappointment. 

Grace,  No ;  I  have  nothing  to  complain  o^  except 
tbu  fact  that  I  am  nobody  is  a  disappointment. 

Howard.    Nobody!     You  —  you  have  genius. 

Grace,  Perhaps.  That  remains  to  be  seen.  I  know 
I  have  courage  to  persevere,  will  to  conquer;  but, 
should  I  triumph,  none  to  rejoice  at  my  success. 

Howard,     I  do  not  understand  you. 

Grace,  Because  you  do  not  know  me.  I  do  not 
know  myseltl  I  am  a  waif,  the  property  of  nobody 
who  will  claim  me.  Originally,  one  of  those  mysteri- 
ous little  mortals  that  are  dropped  by  the  way,  as  w© 
sometimes  dispose  of  a  troublesome  kitten. 

Howard.     And  your  parents  ? 

Grace,  I  have  not  the  honor  of  their  acquaintance  ; 
nothing  but  the  recollection  of  a  loving  face  bending 


ABOVE    THE   CLOUDS.  105 

over  me ;  a  silken  beard  I  loved  to  stroke,  long,  long 
years  ago ;  and  then  a  change  to  rough  hands,  but 
kind  hearts ;  and  then  all  is  blotted,  till  my  life  began 
with  Mr.  Thorpe. 

Howard,     Surely  that  was  a  pleasant  change. 

Grace,  He  says  he  was  a  friend  of  my  parents ; 
that  both  are  dead  —  and  nothing  more.  Where  they 
lived,  or  where  they  lie,  in  vain  I  ask.  He  has  ever 
been  a  kind  friend  to  me ;  allowed  me  to  choose  ray 
artist  life ;  spared  no  expense  ;  encouraged  me  in  every 
way;  and  yet,  and  yet  —  I  hate  him! 

Howard,     Hate  him? 

Grace,  What  right  has  he  to  stand  between  me 
and  those  who  gave  me  life  ? 

Howard,     But  if  they  are  dead  ? 

Grace  {rising).  Their  memories  should  live  in  the 
heart  of  their  child;  not  be  stolen  from  her;  hidden 
away  in  the  grave  with  them,  as  though  they  were 
guilty  things,  too  base  to  be  remembered.  ISTo,  no; 
there  is  some  mystery  here.  Would  I  could  solve  it 
{raises  hand  towards  xoindow  k.  and  looks  off).  O, 
solitary  dweller  on  the  Mountain  Peak,  I  can  clasp 
hands  with  thee.  Thou  stand  est  alone  in  Nature's 
loneliest  haunts;  amid  the  crowded  ways  of  life,  like 
thee,  I  am  alone  —  alone.  (  With  an  effort,)  Pardon 
me  ;  this  is  one  of  my  changeful  moods.  I  shall  soon 
be  better.  \_Exit  r.  1  e. 

Howard,  A  strange  mood.  So  young ;  so  beautiful. 
She  fascinates  me  !  Am  I  wise  to  linger  in  her  pres- 
ence ?  To  listen  to  her  beguiling  voice  ?  To  look  into 
her  eyes  2  She,  a  genius,  and  an  angel !  Dare  I  utter 
the  words  that  spring  to  my  lips  — 


106  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Susy,    Ahem! 

Howard.  Susy,  I  had  forgotten  you.  What  are  you 
doing,  puss  ? 

Susy,  O,  I've  been  keeping  Miss  Grace  and  you 
company. 

Howard.     In  what  way  ? 

Susy.  Paring!  O,  Howard  Gaylord,  you've  just 
come,  and  been  and  gone  and  done  it. 

Howard.     What,  puss  ? 

Susy.     Fallen  in  love  with  Miss  Grace  Ingalls. 

IToioard.     Nonsense,  puss. 

Susy.  Well,  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  of  non- 
sense about  it.  But  ain't  it  nice  to  feel  your  heart 
going  pitity-pat,  pitity-pat,  every  time  she  looks  at  you, 
and  to  feel  that  delicious  lump  in  your  throat,  like  as 
though  you  were  going  to  strangle  with  delight  and 
wa3  afraid  you  shouldn't ! 

Howard.  Well,  you  certainly  understand  the  symp- 
toms, Susy. 

Susy.  Indeed  I  do.  I  haven't  lived  seventeen 
years  for  nothing.  But  all  that's  nothing  to  what  will 
come  over  you  the  first  time  you  clasp  her  taper  fin- 
gers. You'll  feel  just  as  though  you  were  being  lifted 
upon  a  bridge  of  rainbows.  You'll  be  dizzy  at  first, 
but  it  soon  wears  off. 

Howard.  Ha,  ha!  you're  well  posted,  puss.  Was 
Curtis  Chipman  your  instructor? 

Susy.  Chips  ?  Not  much ;  he  hasn't  the  courage 
to  look  me  in  the  eye. 

Howard.  And  of  course  cannot  feel  the  "  pitity-pat " 
sensation.  Curt  is  a  good  fellow,  Susy ;  mind  you  don't 
frighten  him. 


ABOVE  THE    CLOUDS.  107 

Siis]/,  I  frighten  him !  He  don't  need  any  help,  he 
frightens  himself. 

Howard,     And  you  think  I  love  Miss  Grace  ? 

Susy,  You  prove  it,  in  being  so  anxious  to  return 
to  the  subject. 

Howard,  What  if  I  do,  Susy.  Do  you  think  she 
would  condescend  to  look  with  favor  upon  such  a  rough 
specimen  as  I  ? 

Susy,  Condescend  ?  My  goodness !  Condescend 
to  you,  my  brother  ?  The  idea !  Why,  Howard  Gay- 
lord,  I'm  ashamed  of  you !  You're  none  too  good  for 
the  best  woman  that  ever  trod  the  earth. 

Howard,  Ha,  ha,  ha  I  Right,  Susy :  I'm  none  "  too 
good." 

Susy,  !N"ow  laugh  because  I  made  a  slip.  You  know 
what  I  mean ;  and  if  you  don't  boldly  woo  and  win 
Grace  Ingalls,  I'll  disinherit  you. 

Howard.     Hush  !  she 's  here. 

Susy,  I  thought  she  couldn't  keep  away  from  you 
long. 

(JEnter  Grace,  r.) 
•    Grace.     There,  the  storm  is  over  {goes  to  her  easel), 

Susy  {aside).  Now's  the  time  for  rainbows!  Why 
don't  he  squeeze  her  hand  ? 

Howard,    Shall  I  disturb  you  if  I  look  at  your  work? 

Grace,     O,  no;  I'm  quite  myself  again. 

Susy  {aside).  Look  at  her  work,  indeed  !  He  can't 
keep  his  eyes  off  of  her.  (  Whistle  outside^  l.  Susy 
gradually  falls  asleep.) 

Howard,     Ah,  that's  Phil  Ringold.     I  must  be  off. 

Grace,     O,  do  bring  him  in. 


108  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Howard.  I  cannot;  it  would  be  useless  to  make 
the  attempt. 

Grace  {Hsing).  Then  I'll  have  one  good  look  at 
Lira  {rises  and  goes  up  into  doorway ;  looks  off  l.). 
Yes,  what  a  fine  figure.  Mr.  Gaylord,  your  friend  is 
splendid.  Ah,  he  sees  me  (hows  aiid  smiles).  He 
starts.  He  comes  this  way  like  a  madman  {runs  down 
to  easel ;  turns  and  stands  with  hand  on  easel,  bending 
forward,  looking  at  door.    Howard,  l.) 

Phil  {outside,  l.).  Hester !  Hester !  {Passes  window 
and  appears  in  doorway,  gun  thrown  across  his  arm  ; 
stops  and  glares  at  Grace.)  Hester!  No,  no;  'tis 
her  fece ;  but  she  —  so  like  !  so  like  !  Where  got  you 
that  face  ?  It  belonged  to  one  I  knew  long  years  ago. 
So  beaut^ul — but  false.  As  young  and  fair,  but  heart- 
less and  cruel.  She  made  my  home  a  ruin  and  my  life 
a  curse. 

Howard.  Phil,  old  fellow,  be  calm.  This  is  our 
guest,  Miss  Grace  Ingalls  —  an  artist.  Look  at  her  work 
there  on  the  easel.  Do  you  recognize  it?  (Grack 
steps  hack  towards  toindow,  e.  Phil  combes  forward, 
his  eyes  fastened  upon  her  face  until  he  nears  the 
easel.  He  sighs ;  lets  his  eyes  rove  round  until  they 
reach  the  picture  ;  starts.) 

Phil  {with  a  smile).  Ah,  the  old  nest.  See,  see, 
Howard !  It's  wondrous  like  —  wondrous  like !  ( Turns 
to  Grace  with  a  how.)  I  congratulate  you,  young  lady, 
on  your  success.     It  is  a  cLarming  picture. 

Grace.    Thank  you. 

Phil  (starts).  O,  that  voice !  —  it  brings  back  the 
old  days  —  the  mother  with  the  child  in  her  lap ;  and 


ABOVE  THE  CLOTJDS.         •  109 

llie  music  of  her  lullaby  thrills  me  again  and  again. 
No,  no ;  let  me  shut  it  out  —  shut  it  out ;  it  softens 
my  heart,  —  and  that  should  be  steel,  adamant,  to  bar 
out  forever  the  traitoress,  the  false  one.  Come,  How- 
ard, the  day  is  speeding,  and  we've  a  long  tramp.  Come, 
come  {goes  up). 

Grace.  Stay  one  moment.  (Phil  turns,)  We  meet 
as  strangers  to-day ;  but,  believe  me,  I  sympathize  with 
your  sorrows  and  your  wrongs.  Can  we  not  be  friends? 
(  Offers  her  hand.) 

Phil  {takes  it  and  looks  in  her  face).  My  sorrows 
and  my  wrongs,  child,  they  are  forgotten.  I  trod 
the  haunts  of  men,  mingled  with  the  bustling  and  the 
busy ;  loved,  lost ;  and  then,  there  {pointing  off  through 
window^  E.)  on  yonder  mountain  peak,  perched  myself 
above  the  clouds,  that,  floating  at  my  feet,  shut  out  all 
tokens  of  the  sin  and  wrong  below.  Ah,  little  one, 
pretty  one,  this  is  a  world  of  trouble.  We  joy  and 
we  sorrow,  gain  and  lose ;  but  there  —  there  on  His 
eternal  mountains  that  pierce  the  sky,  all  is  forgotten, 
for  we  are  alone,  —  with  Nature  here,  and  Heaven 
there. 

Grace,  May  Heaven  recompense  you  for  all  you 
have  suffered. 

Phil.  It  will ;  it  does.  My  wrongs  were  like  those 
of  other  men.  I  loved,  and  was  deceived.  I  married^ 
and  found  my  wife's  smiles  were  bestowed  upon  an- 
other. I  w^as  a  fool  to  trust  a  woman,  and  so  pay  pen- 
ance by  forgetting  the  whole  world. 

Howard.     Except  — 

Phil  {giving  Howard  his  hand).    Except  Howard, 


110  •         ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

for  we  are  friends,  and  he  is  of  my  own  mind.  He'll 
never  trust  a  woman.  (Howard  withdraws  his  hand^ 
looks  at  Grace,  and  turns  away.  Grace  blushes  and 
looks  down,)  Ho,  ho!  I've  said  too  much.  Never 
mnid;  it's  only  Crazy  Phil.  Come,  Howard,  we  must 
be  ofl^  for  game 's  afoot,  and  Crazy  Phil  is  a  wondrous 
good  shot.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  (At  door^  turns  and  hows  to 
Grace.)  Good-bye.  So  like  —  so  like  —  it  almost 
drives  me  mad.  \_Exit  c.  off  L. 

Howard,  You  see,  Miss  Grace,  Phil  is  an  odd  char- 
acter. 

Grace.     Yerj. 

Howard,  You  mustn't  mind  all  he  says  ;  for  in- 
stance, that  remark  about  me  that  I  would  never  trust 
a  woman ;  for  there  is  one  woman  I  could  trust  with 
my  life,  my  soul. 

Grace,     I  hope  there  are  many  such, 

Howard,    Yes  —  O,  yes.     But  this  one  — 

Grace,     Your  friend  is  waiting,  I  see. 

Howard,  I'm  off.  (Aside)  She's  not  for  me  —  not 
for  me.     I  was  a  fool  to  think  it.        \^JBows,  and  exit  c. 

Grace,  I'm  on  dangerous  ground  here.  This  rough 
but  honest-hearted  fellow  is  stirring  my  heart  strangely. 
Is  fate  or  fortune  about  to  send  some  one  to  prove 
false  my  statement  that  there's  no  one  to  rejoice  at  my 
success  ?     If  so,  I  hope  he'll  be  the  man.  [^JExit  b.  1  e. 

(Enter  Chips /rom  l.  He  comes  on  with  his  hat  twirl- 
ing in  his  hand;  conies  to  door  slowly  and  stands 
looking  down  bashfully^  rubbing  against  door-post.) 

Chipa.    I  was  just  going  by.   (Pause),  I  said  I  was 


ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS.  Ht 

just  going  by  {looks  up),  Hal)^ !  Nobody  here  ? 
That's  queer,  I  vum !  ( Comes  down,)  I've  made  up  / 
my  mind  that  Susy  Gay  lord  is  the  prettiest,  smartest, 
and  likelieit  gal  in  these  parts,  and  I've  just  got  spunk 
enough  to  tell  her  so.  {Sees  Susy.)  Jewhittiker !  there 
she  is !  {Backs  across  stage  to  r.,  looking  down  and 
twirling  his  hat.)  How  d'e  do?  I  was  just  going  by. 
{Pause^  looks  up.)  Why,  she's  asleep !  ( Comes  to  c.  and 
looks  at  her.)  Now,  ain't  she  a  beauty  !  j  ust  clear  pink 
and  white.  Look  at  them  lips !  there  's  honey  for  the. 
taking !  Curtis,  now's  your  chance  {wipes  his  mouth 
with  coat-sleeve).  She's  asleep,  and  nobody's  looking 
{creeps  towards  her), 

{Enter  Nat  Naylor,  l.;  looks  through  window) 
I'm  trembling  all  over;  but,  darn  it,  here  goes!  {Stoopt 
to  kiss  her,     Nat  comes  to  door.) 

Nat.  Brace  up !  (Chips  runs  across  stage  to  r. 
Susy  wakes,  Nat  comes  down)  Here  's  robbery ! 
Grand  larceny ! 

Bumpkin,  forbear,  touch  not  those  tempting  lips, 
Base  is  the  man  who  thus  felonious  sips. 

Impromptu.  Ahem!  {To  Susy)  Excuse  me,  I  am  the 
avant  courier  of  Mr.  Alfred  Thorpe,  Mr.  Titu?  Turtle, 
"  and  last  but  not  least  is  our  dear  love,"  Miss  Lucretia 
Gerrish,  —  three  mountain  travellers  who  are  on  their 
way  to  spend  a  few  days  in  this  delightful  ma»sion  of 
Mr.  Amos  Gay  lord. 

A  stately  pile,  the  country's  pride  and  boast. 
Amid  the  mountain,  with  A  Gaylord  host. 

Impromptu.     Ahem!     {Struts  up  stage,) 


112  ABOVE   THE  CLOUDS, 

Susy.     Well,  I  never ! 

Chips.     Wall,  he 's  gone  crazy,  and  got  it  bad. 

Susy.     Chips,  what  are  you  doing  here  ? 

Nat  {com€s  dowii).  Chips,  is  it?  O,  Chips,  I  blush 
for  you.  Young  lady,  look  upon  me  as  your  preserver. 
I  caught  this  modest  rustic  in  the  very  act  of  snatch- 
ing a  kiss  from  those  ruby  lips,  — 

Where  Cupid  sits  enthroned  with  arching  bow, 
Before  the  ivoried  walls  that  gleam  below. 

Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Susy.     Chips,  is  it  possible  ?     Did  you  dare  ? 

Chips.  Well,  you  see,  Susy,  I  was  going  by,  and  — 
and  —  I  thought  I'd  just  drop  in  to  tell  you  that  — 
that  —  mother's  making  pickles  to-day. 

JSTat.    O,  Chips!   Chips! 

While  making  pickles,  mother  dear, 
I  find  a  sweeter  pickle  here. 

Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Chips.  Look  here,  Mr.  What's-your-name,  you're  a 
darned  sight  too  free  with  your  Mother  Goose  Melo- 
dies. Ef  you  get  my  dander  up,  you'll  think  a  horse 
kicked  you,  —  now  I  tell  you. 

Susy.     Chips,  don't  be  rude. 

Chips.  Well,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  sassed  by  a  feller 
that  can't  talk  English. 

Nat.     Chips,  you  want  polish. 

Chips.  Well,  p'raps  you  'd  like  to  polish  me.  Ef 
you  would,  I'm  your  man.  Come  down  behind  the 
barn  — 

Susy,     Chips,  I'm  ashamed  of  you ! 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  113 

Nat.     So  am  I,  Chips. 

The  blush  of  shame  is  mounting  to  my  cheek, 
It  glows  — 

It  glows  —  There,  Fve  lost  it !  You  must  know,  I'rn 
a  protege  of  Mr.  Thorpe's,  destined  to  become  a  poet. 
Yes,  he's  fond  of  helping  aspiring  genius  up  the  dizzy 
heights  —  and  I'm  to  be  a  poet.  So,  as  practice  makes 
perfect,  I  indulge  in  flights  of  fancy  on  all  occasions. 
So  if  you  happen  to  hear  from  my  lips  eccentric  bits, 
don't  mind  them.     It's  nothing  —  mere  practice. 

Sitsy,     O,  you're  a  poet!     Well,  I  declare  ! 

Nat.  Yes  —  !N"at  !N"aylor.  Sometimes  called  Natty, 
because  my  verses  are  neat  and  natty.     See  ? 

Susy.  I  am  glad  to  welcome  you  to  my  father's 
house. 

Nat.  Then  I  am  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Susy  Gay- 
lord.  Delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Allow 
me  —  {lifts  her  hand  to  his  lips). 

Here  on  this  hand  I  pay  the  homage  due 
To  lovely  woman  — 

{About  to  kiss  again.) 

Susy  {withdrawing  her  hand).  Thank  you ;  that 
will  do. 

Nat.  Impromptu.  Ahem!  I  must  return  to  ray 
friends.  You  may  expect  us  in  half  an  hour.  Adieu 
{goes  to  door  and  turns).  We  part  to  meet  again. — 
Sweet  one,  farewell.     Chips,  au  revoir.  [^Exit  c. 

Chips.  Get  out,  you  tarnal  swell !  Darn  his  pic- 
ture, I'll  have  one  shot  at  him.  {Bujis  up  to  Susy,  takes 
three  or  four  apples^  and  runs  up  to  c.) 


114  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Susy,     Chips,  what  are  you  doing  with  my  apples  ? 

Chips  {throwing  apples  off  l.  swiftly).  There,  im- 
promptu !  Darn  you !  I  wish  they  were  Centennial 
eggs  !     ( Comes  down  c.) 

Susy,     Curtis  Chipman  I 

Chips.     That's  my  name,  and  I  ain't  ashamed  of  it. 

Susy,  I'm  ashamed  of  you  !  Such  treatment  of  a 
gentleman  and  a  poet ! 

Chips,  O,  bother!  What's  a  poet,  anyhow?  He 
can't  tell  a  Shanghai  from  a  Bantam,  a  pitchfork  from 
a  rake.  What  right  has  he  to  kiss  your  hand  ?  You 
never  saw  me  trying  it? 

Susy,  1^0  ;  but  he  saw  you  attempting  something 
worse,  Chips. 

Chips,     Don't  care.     I  was  just  going  by  — 

Susy,  Pshaw !  you  're  always  going  by.  Why 
don't  you  come  straight  to  the  house,  and  not  make  an 
excuse,  when  you  know  you  are  dying  to  see  me.  O, 
Chips,  you're  a  good  fellow,  but  you  want  a  little  pol- 
ish.    Look  at  Mr.  Naylor. 

Chips,     Hang  Mr.  Naylor  !     I  hate  him. 

Susy,  And  I  like  him.  He's  so  gentle,  so  well- 
bred  ;  such  a  flow  of  language.  I'm  sure  we  shall  be- 
come good  friends. 

Chips  {throios  his  hat  on  stage),  Susy  Gay  lord, 
I'm  mad;  and  I'm  going  to  tell  you  just  what  I  think 
of  you. 

Susy,     That's  right.  Chips  ;  frankn<iss  is  a  virtue. 

Chips,  You're  a  —  a  —  confound  it,  Susy,  you're 
an  angel ;  and  I  love  you  better  than  father  or  mother, 
sister  or  brother  — 


ABOVE   THE   CLOUDS.  llSt 

Susy,  Uncles  and  aunts,  first  and  second  cousins. 
Put  in  all  the  relatives,  Chips. 

Chips,     I  know  I  ain't  handsome. 

Susy.  So  do  I,  Chips. 

Chips,     I  haven't  what  you  call  "polish." 

Susy,  Not  a  bit,  Chips. 

Chips,     But  I've  got  a  heart  crammed  full  of  love 

for  you.  Will  you  marry  me  ? 

Susy.  I  cannot.  Chips ;  because  —  because  — 

Chips,  Because  what? 

Susy.  I'm  an  angel ;  and  angels  don't  marry. 

Chips.  Don't  torture  me,  Susy. 

Susy,  No,  Chips  —  I  should  if  I  married  you.  So 
I'll  be  merciful  and  spare  you. 

An  angel  of  mercy,  hovering  nigh, 

To  watch  your  footsteps  when  you're  going  by. 

Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Chips,  Hang  it !  don't  you  go  to  making  melodies 
and  jingles  —  Naylor's  lingo.  All  fools  make  rhymes; 
they  do,  by  jingo ! 

Susy,     Impromptu.     Ahem  !     Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Chips,     You  won't  have  me  ? 

Susy,  Haven't  got  time.  Strangers  are  coming 
here,  you  know,  and  I  must  be  bustling.  All  of  them 
coming,  including  that  delightful  Mr.  Naylor. 

Chips.  Darn  him!  You'll  be  sorry  for  this,  Susy 
Gaylord.  As  for  that  poet  fellow,  if  I  don't  smash  his 
rhyming-machine,  then  my  name  's  not  Curtis  Chipman 
(goes  offc). 

Susy,    Good-bye,  Chips ;   call  again   when  you  're 


116  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

going  by.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I've  found  a  new  way  to  make 
a  bashful  lover  speak.  Get  him  mad,  and  then  he  dis- 
closes his  passion.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  ( Goes  up  and  puts  pan 
of  apples  on  table.) 

{Enter  Amos  Gatlord,  c.) 

Amos,     Susy,  has  Mrs.  Thorne  returned  ? 

Susy,  No,  father;  she  spent  the  night  at  Mrs. 
Green's,  with  her  sick  boy. 

Amos,  Bless  her  I  that  woman's  a  sister  of  charity, 
Susy ;  a  friend  in  trouble ;  the  poor  pray  for  her,  and 
the  sick  forget  their  pain  when  she  is  near. 

Susy,  Ah,  father,  you've  a  tender  regard  for  our 
new  housekeeper. 

Amos,  To  be  sure  I  have,  Susy.  Isn't  she  a  treas- 
ure here  ?  How  carefully  she  looks  after  my  comfort ; 
so  quiet,  yet  so  active  at  her  household  duties ;  so  un^ 
obtrusive ;  so  motherly  to  you.  Ah,  it  was  a  happy 
day  when  she  came  to  our  home  ! 

Susy,     Father,  you  surprise  me  ! 

Amos,  I  have  a  still  greater  surprise  in  store  for 
you,  Susy.  I  am  going  to  ask  Mrs.  Thome  to  marry 
me. 

Susy,     Marry  you  I 

Amos,  Yes ;  she  has  become  so  necessary  here  that 
I  fear  to  lose  her.  She  has  evidently  seen  trouble, 
poverty.  Why  should  not  I  try  to  make  her  forget  all 
she  has  suffered  by  making  her  the  honored  head  of 
this  my  home  ? 

Susy,  Father,  no  one  would  more  gladly  welcome 
her  to  that  position  than  I.    I  truly,  sincerely  hope 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 


11? 


you  may  be  successful ;  but  I  fear  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed. 

Amos,  Don't  dash  my  hopes,  Susy !  I'm  not  a  very 
old  man.     I  have  wealth. 

jSusy,  Any  woman  might  be  proud  of  your  pro- 
posal, father ;  but  she  has  that  in  her  face  which  tells 
me  she  has  suffered  deeply. 

Hester  {outside  c).  I  will  have  it  attended  to  at 
once. 

Amos.    Hush  !  she  is  here. 

{Enter  Hester  Thorne  from  l.,  passing  window 
to  c.  door.  She  has  a  light  shawl  on  her  shoulders^ 
a  rigolette  on  her  head.) 

Hester.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Gaylord.  Susy,  have 
you  missed  me? 

.  Susy.  We  always  miss  you,  Mrs.  Thorne.  (  Takes  her 
shawl  aiid  rigolette.)     How  is  the  boy  ? 

Hester.  Poor  little  fellow  !  —  at  rest ;  he  died  this 
morning.  Brave  to  the  last,  he  suffered  uncomplain- 
ingly, an^  passed  away  with  a  Smile  upon  his  lips. 

Amos,  You  have  had  a  weary  night.  You  must 
take  rest.    {Exit  Susy,  door  l.) 

Hester.  No  ;  my  brisk  walk  this  morning  has  re- 
freshed me. 

Amos.  I  do  not  like  to  have  you  waste  your 
strength  in  such  constant  watching. 

Hester.  I  think  one  gains  strength  in  seeking  to 
alleviate  distress. 

Amos.     Yes ;  but  — 

Hester.  You  think  it  unfits  me  for  my  duties  as 
your  housekeeper. 


118  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Amos.     Mrs.  Thorne  ! 

Hester.  Pardon  me  ;  that  was  an  unkind  speech  to 
so  generous  a  man  as  you. 

Amos.  I  think  only  of  your  own  health,  Mrs.  Thome. 
I  am  anxious  on  yoar  account  solely.  For  a  year  you 
have  been  my  housekeeper,  and  I  need  not  tell  you 
how  highly  you  are  respected  here. 

Hester,    I  am  glad  to  know  you  like  me. 

Amos.  So  well,  Mrs.  Thome,  that  I  am  anxious  to 
secure  you  for  life. 

Hester  {surprised),     Mr.  Gaylord ! 

Am,os.  Hester  Thorne,  I  am  too  old  a  man  to  prate 
of  love  with  a  young  man's  passionate  warmth.  I  have 
the  most  exalted  opinion  of  your  disposition,  your 
talents,  and  your  honor.     Will  you  become  my  wife  ? 

Hester.  Mr.  Gaylord,  you  know  not  what  you  ask. 
Impossible ! 

Am^os.  Impossible  !  Mrs.  Thorne,  I  am  a  man  of 
few  words ;  but  I  am  honest,  earnest  in  my  offer.  Give 
your  consent,  and  you  are  mistress  here. 

Hester,     Stop  —  stop  —  give  me  time  — 

Amos,     To  consider  my  proposal? 

Hester.  No,  no  ;  not  that.  It  must  not,  cannot  be. 
O,  you  have  taken  me  by  surprise.  I  never  dreamed 
of  this.  Your  offer  is  generous,  noble.  You  have 
been  a  kind,  dear  friend  to  me,  and  I  respect  you  ;  but 
marriage  !  —  No,  no  —  there  is  a  bar. 

Amos,     You  are  a  widow  ? 

Hester.  Widow  or  wife.  Heaven  alone  can  answer. 
Mr.  Gaylord,  there  must  be  no  secrets  between  us  now. 
Listen  to  me ;  listen  to  a  story  never  breathed  to  mor- 


ABOVE   THE  CLOUDS.  US' 

tal  ears  before.  Years  ago,  I,  a  young  girl,  was  wooed 
by  two  suitors,  both  handsome  and  accomplished. 
One  became  my  partner,  and,  for  a  year,  happiness 
was  my  lot.  Then  a  child  was  born  to  me,  and  still 
my  happiness  continued  ;  my  husband  loved  me,  and 
my  home  was  heaven  itself.  When  our  little  girl  was 
three  years  old,  the  other  suitor  returned  from  a  foreign 
land.  My  husband  and  he  were  intimate ;  he  came  to 
our  house,  and  in  an  evil  hour  professed  his  love  for 
me.  I  spurned  him;  but  still  he  came.  Then  I  com- 
mitted the  first  error  cf  my  married  life.  I  kept  his 
secret  from  my  husband,  but  still  avoided  him  with 
loathing  and  abhorrence.  He  —  villain  that  he  was — • 
filled  his  friend's  ears  with  slanderous  reports.  My 
husband  grew  cold,  and  still  my  lips  were  closed.  One 
night  —  shall  I  ever  forget  it  ?  —  I  awoke  to  find  my- 
self alone.  My  husband  had  fled  with  our  child,  leav- 
ing behind,  in  letters  that  burned  into  my  brain,  his 
bitter  taunts  for  my  unfaithfulness  and  guilt.  O,  heav- 
ens, I,  innocent  and  loving,  to  be  so  accused!  From 
that  day  I  have  never  seen  them. 

Amos,     But  could  you  find  no  clue  ? 

Hester,  None  ;  day  followed  day,  and  still  I  waited. 
A  year  passed,  and  I  read  in  a  paper,  marked  for  my 
inspection,  the  death  of  my  child  in  a  distant  city. 

Amos.     Was  no  provision  made  for  your  support? 

Hester.  Ample;  but  I  was  too  proud  to  take  his 
wealth  while  he  believed  me  guilty.  With  my  own 
hands  I  toiled,  patiently  trusting  to  time  to  work  out 
the  right.  Years  have  followed  years,  arfd  still  I  wait. 
O  Heaven,  be  merciful ;  shed  some  light  upon  my  dark 


130'  ABOVE   THE  CLOUDS. 

path,  ere  I  go  down  into  the  grave.  Let  him  beliere 
me  innocent,  and  death  will  be  a  welcome  release. 

Amos,  This  is  a  sad  story,  Mrs.  Thorn e.  I  thank 
you  for  the  telling.  You  have  a  friend  in  me,  trust 
me  —  a  home  here  among  us.  You  have  been  deeply 
wronged,  and  I'll  search  the  world  over,  but  your  in- 
nocence shall  be  made  clear. 

Hester,  No,  no  ;  let  it  rest.  Were  my  child  living, 
for  her  sake  I  woukl  be  vindicated ;  but  I  am  alone, 
and,  confident  in  my  own  integrity,  can  wait  the  right- 
eous verdict  in  the  great  hereafter.  [^McU  door  l. 

Amos.  She's  a  noble  woman  ;  there's  goodness  and 
honesty  in  her  face.  'Tis  hard  to  lose  her;  but  V\l 
have  the  truth,  wherever  it  rests. 

{Enter  Alfred  Thorpe,  c.) 

Thorpe,  Ah,  my  old  friend,  your  doors  are  open, 
and,  of  course,  the  latch-string  is  out. 

Amos  {shaking  ha^ids),  Thorpe,  welcome,  welcome ; 
this  is  a  surprise. 

Thorpe,  Indeed !  Then  my  poetical  protege^  Nat 
Naylor,  has  surely  not  performed  his  duty.  I  sent  him 
here  to  announce  my  coming. 

Amos,  No  matter;  it  needed  no  ceremony  ;  we  are 
always  ready  to  receive  you. 

Thorpe,  And  my  friends,  I  trust.  But  where's  ray 
Grace,  and  how  is  she?  Enraptured  with  your  de- 
lightful scenery.  Til  be  bound. 

Amos,  Yes ;  enjoying  herself  hugely.  She's  a  genius, 
Thorpe.     Where  did  you  find  such  a  treasure  ? 

Thorpe.    Ah,  that's  a  secret.    But,  between  you  and 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  121f 

me,  she's  the  daughter  of  a  couple  whose  married  life 
was  not  as  happy  as  it  should  have  been.  The  wife 
went  astray,  and  the  husband  went  roaming,  nobody 
knows  where. 

Amos,    And  Grace  —  does  she  know  of  this  ? 

Thorpe,     No  ;  she  believes  them  both  dead. 

Amos.     Ah,  and  their  names  ? 

Thorpe.  O  come,  come,  old  friend,  you  are  getting 
excited.  I've  told  you  quite  enough.  The  rest  is  my 
secret.  The  intrigues  of  the  world  in  which  I  live  can 
scarcely  interest  you  in  your  simple,  honest,  country  life, 

Amos,  And  you  are  content  to  practise  this  decep- 
tion upon  a  young  girl  ? 

Thorpe,  Who  would  be  made  unhappy  by  the 
knowledge  I  withhold  ?  Yes,  believe  me,  old  friend,  in 
all  I  do,  I  am  anxious  to  secure  her  happiness ;  for  she 
has  become  very  dear  to  me  —  so  dear  that  I  am  here 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  asking  her  to  become  my  wife. 

Amos,     Ah,  this  is  a  part  of  your  secret  ? 

Thorpe.  Yes.  I've  told  you  I  am  a  man  of  the 
world.  I  never  allow  anything  to  thwart  me  in  my 
inclinations  and  desires.  She  is  dependent  upon  me. 
I  have  made  her  young  life  pleasant  and  happy.  Every 
wish  has  been  gratified,  every  desire  fulfilled.  She 
looks  upon  me  as  her  benefactor ;  and  when  I  ask  her 
hand,  I  have  no  tear  of  a  refusal. 

Amos,  But  there's  such  a  difference  in  your  ages. 
She  may  respect  you  as  her  benefactor,  but  when  you 
ask  her  love,  she  may  rebel. 

Thorpe.  Possibly ;  but  when  she  hears  the  story  of 
.her  parents —  when  she  knows  that  by  making  it  pub- 


122  ABOVE  THE  CLOTTDS.' 

lie  she  might  feel  the  stigma  of  their  shame, sWll  be' 
glad  to  buy  my  silence. 

Amos.     And  you  could  do  this? 

Thorpe,  Certainly,  if  by  no  other  means  I  could 
gain  her  consent. 

Amos,  Why,  this  is  cowardly,  unmanly.  Thorpe, 
I  would  not  believe  you  could  be  guilty  of  so  base  a 
deed. 

Thorpe,  Tut,  tut ;  this  is  tlie  way  of  the  world  — 
my  world. 

Amos,  Then  your  world  is  a  province  of  the  infer- 
nal kingdom ! 

Thorpe.  Possibly.  And  yours,  of  the  better  world  ; 
for  here  you  are  much  nearer  to  the  heavens.  Come, 
come,  old  friend,  keep  my  secret  and  lead  me  to  my 
protege, 

Amos,     She 's  here.     (  Goes  up  stage.) 

{Enter  Grace,  e.) 

Thorpe,     Ah,  Grace!  Grace! 

Grace  {running  to  him  and  taking  his  hand).  Wel- 
come, a  thousand  times  welcome,  Mr.  Thorpe  ! 

Thorpe.  What  a  change  !  The  mountain  air  has 
put  a  rich  color  in  your  face  ;  you  are  wondrous  beau- 
tiful, child.     So  you  are  glad  to  meet  me  again  ? 

Grace,  Indeed  —  indeed  I  am.  If  the  mountain 
air  has  freshened  my  complexion,  my  absence  from  you 
has  freshened  the  recollection  of  how  much  I  owe 
to  you,  —  how  grateful  I  should  be  for  all  your  care 
©f  me. 

Turtle  {outside  c).  How  soon  will  dinner  be  ready  ? 


ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS.  123 

Thorpe,  Ah,  there's  Turtle  ;  with  characteristic  in. 
stinct  he  is  sniffing  the  country  air  to  catch  a  whif! 
from  the  kitchen  fire.  (  Goes  up  c.)  Tiiis  way,  Turtle, 
(Amos  comes  to  r.  and  speaks  with  Grace.) 

Turtle  {outside  c).  It's  very  well  to  say  this  way  ; 
but,  considering  what  I  weigh,  you'd  better  let  me  have 
my  way  in  getting  up.  {Passes  yyindow  with  Lucrb^ 
TiA  on  his  arm^  and  enters  c.)  Thorpe,  this  is  a 
wretched  country;  it's  all  up  stairs. 

Thorpe,  Don't  grumble,  old  fellow.  Mr.  Gaylord, 
my  friend  Titus  Turtle. 

Amos.     Glad  to  see  you  {shakes  hands). 

Turtle,  Thank  you.  Fine  place  you  have,  Mr.  Gay- 
lord.  Ah,  my  little  friend  Grace !  {Passes  Amos,  and 
takes  her  hand.)     And  how  are  you  ?     Hearty,  eh  ? 

Grace,  Quite  well,  thank  you,  and  delighted  to 
meet  you  again. 

Thorpe,  { To  Amos,  presenting  Miss  Gerrish.)  My 
friend,  Miss  Gerrish. 

Amos,  Happy  to  meet  you,  and  hope  to  make  your 
stay  pleasant  in  our  homely  way. 

Lucretia.  Thank  you.  'Tis  really  a  delightful  place ; 
delightful  trees  ;  delightful  hills  ;  delightful  odors  ;  and 
all  —  so  romantic. 

Turtle.  Right,  Miss  Lucretia  {smiffs) ;  delightful 
odor  {snuffs),     {Aside)  Roast  mutton. 

Lucretia  {running  to  window.,  r.).  O,  Mr.  Turtle, 
do  come  here,  quick  ;  such  an  exquisite  prospect ! 

Turtle  {goes  to  table).  Thank  you;  here's  a  finer 
prospect  to  my  taste  {takes  apple  and  eats). 

Lucretia,  How  gracefully  those  boughs  bend  to- 
wards the  ground. 


124  ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS. 

Turtle,  They  can't  help  it;  they're  loaded  down 
with  apples. 

Lucretia,  And  do  see  those  lambs  frolicking  in  the 
sunshine.  Sportive,  innocent  creatures.  I  do  love 
lambs  —  so  romantic. 

Turtle  {helping  himself  to  another  apple).  So  do  I 
—  with  mint-sauce. 

Lucretia.  And  do  see  that  poor  dumb  animal  fast- 
ened there  in  the  grass,  like  a  martyr  at  the  stake. 

Turtle,  Ah,  what  luscious  steaks  he  '11  make  when 
he  's  cut  up  !  Mr.  Gaylord,  what  is  the  dinner  hour  in 
tliis  mountainous  country  ? 

Amos,     Twelve  o'clock,  Mr.  Turtle. 

Turtle  {looking  at  icatch) .  O  !  —  two  hours,  thirty- 
fi\e  minutes  and  ten  seconds  (sinks  into  arm-chair^  i^.), 
I  shall  starve  before  that  time  ! 

Amos.     Suppose  we  furnish  you  a  lunch  ? 

Turtle,  Capital  idea,  Mr.  Gaylord ;  I've  not  eaten 
anything  since   six  o'clock! 

Thorpe,     Titus  ! 

Lucretia.     Mr,  Turtle  ! 

Turtle.     Well,  nothing  worth  mentioning. 

Thorpe.  The  lunch-basket  was  very  heavy  when  we 
started.  It  is  empty  now;  and  neither  Miss  Gerrish 
nor  I  have  helped  unload  it.  If  I  recollect  right,  there 
were  a  pair  of  chickens. 

Turtle,  Only  six  pounds !  What's  that  to  a  hungry 
man  ? 

Lucretia,     Three  dozen  sandwiches. 

Turtle,     Mere  wafers ! 

Thorpe,     Two  dozen  eggs. 


ABOVE   THE   CLOUDS.  125 

Turtle,     So  very  small ! 

Thorpe,  A  box  of  sardines ;  two  dozen  crackers ; 
and  turnovers  enough  to  stock  a  country  muster.  O, 
Turtle,  you  cannot  be  hungry  after  such  a  feast. 

Turtle.  Feast  ?  Call  that  a  feast  ?  Thorpe,  I  blush 
for  you !  You're  getting  niggardly  !  I  shall  have  to 
be  caterer  for  the  balance  of  our  trip. 

Thorpe,     Then  I'll  provide  a  baggage- wagon. 

Lucretia,  O,  Mr.  Turtle  —  dear  Mr.  Turtle,  do  make 
me  happy  by  leading  me  to  those  flower-beds  that 
bloom  outside  the  window  ? 

Thorpe,  Yes,  Turtle ;  and  Grace  and  I  will  bear 
you  company. 

Turtle,  That's  right,  Thorpe.  You  take  them  both, 
and  I'll  join  you  after  I've  had  my  lunch. 

Grace,  I'll  show  the  way.  Come.  \Exit  r.  1  e. 
(LucRETiA  takes  Thorpe's  arm.) 

Thorpe  {aside).  Confound  that  glutton,  he's  spoiled 
a  fine  tete-a-tete  with  Grace.  {Aloud)  Turtle,  remem- 
ber where  you  are,  and  don't  make  a  hog  of  yourself. 
\_Exeunt  Thorpe  and  Lucretia,  r.  1  e. 

Turtle.  ISTow  that's  unkind  of  Thorpe.  Is  there 
anything  about  me,  Mr.  Gaylord,  that  bears  the  least 
resemblance  to  a  hog  ?  Hogs  don't  go  upon  two  legs. 
Hogs  have  no  delicate  appreciation  of  the  delights  of 
eating.     Hog  indeed! 

Amos,  Never  mind,  Mr.  Turtle ;  it's  one  of  Thorpe's 
pleasantries. 

Turtle,  But  I  don't  like  it;  it's  a  rude  attack  upon 
the  fundamental  principles  of  my  being.  Nature  en- 
dowed me  with  uncommonly  fine  digestive  faculties 


I28r  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS/. 

and  gastronomic  talents.  I  didn't  ask  Nature  to  do  it ; 
but  having  received  what  I  did  receive,  it  is  my  duty 
to  use  my  talents  —  isn't  it  ? 

Amos,     Undoubtedly,  Mr.  Turtle. 

Turtle,  Thorpe  has  no  taste.  He  's  all  head  ;  for- 
ever scheming.  Smart,  but  unscrupulous.  For  proof — 
years  ago  we  both  enjoyed  the  hospitalities  of  a  friend. 
Such  dinners !  my  mouth  waters  at  the  thought.  I 
made  love  to  our  friend's  table  ;  he  to  our  friend's  wife; 
consequence  w^as  —  while  I  only  broke  bread,  he  broke 
up  the  family.  Well,  of  the  two,  I'd  rather  be  a  hog 
than  a  serpent,  for  hogs  are  death  on  snakes. 

Amos       (aside)  Ah,  this  is  news  indeed  ! 

Turtle.  Then  there's  the  girl  Grace  Ingalls.  There's 
a  queer  story  there.  When  he  took  her  from  old  Jack 
Graham's  house,  at  Greenland,  she  passed  by  another 
name  than  that.  Hog  indeed  !  A  hog  would  have  to 
root  long  and  well  to  unearth  the  secret  you  have  kept 
so  well,  Alfred  Thorpe. 

Amos,     Ah,  the  secret ! 

Turtle,  Eh  ?  O,  bah !  that's  my  nonsense,  Mr.  Gay- 
lord  ;  don't  mind  it.     Come,  let's  to  lunch. 

Amos      (aside)  Ah,  he's  crawled  into  his  shell  again  ^ 
— this  Turtle.  But  enough  ;  I  have  a  clue.  (Aloud)  Be 
patient,  Mr.  Turtle,  I  will  have  it  arranged  at  once. 

l^^xit  door  L. 

Turtle,  The  old  fellow  looks  hearty,  and  I've  no 
doubt  has  a  good  larder. 

(Writer 'N AYi^oB.^  c) 
i-  Nat.    Ah,  Turtle,  my  boy,  I've  been  looking  for  you. ' 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  127* 

<  '  ;        Give  me  my  turtle  —  crying  everywhere, 

Until  the  echoes  sent  mock-turtle  through  the  air. 

Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Turtle,  Now  don't  do  that,  Nat ;  you'll  spoil  my 
appetite.  Those  spasms  of  wit  must  be  an  awful  strain 
On  your  weak  brain.  Rhyming  is  a  sure  sign  of  dys- 
pepsia; but  when  to  that  you  add  punning,  you  are 
digging  a  pit  that  will  undermine  your  constitution. 

Nat,     What  matters  this  frail  structure  unto  me  ? 
I  feed  upon  the  heights  of  Poesy. 

Turtle,  Must  be  high  old  feeding,  —  if  you  're  a 
specimen,  Nat. 

Nat,     I  hear  afar  the  sound  of  rippling  rills ; 
I  scent  the  verdure  of  a  thousand  liills. 

Titrtle.  No,  you  don't.  {Snuffs.)  That's  muttoa 
roasting.  {Snuffs.)  Glorious  —  isn't  it?  O,  will  din- 
ner-time never  come  ? 

{Enter  ^\j^Y^  door  1.,) 

Susy.     Lunch  is  on  the  table,  sir. 

Turtle,  Ah,  that's  glorious  news!  Come,  Nat, 
join  me  with  a  knife  and  fork.  I'll  show  you  poetry  — 
the  poetry  of  motion  from  the  hand  to  the  mouth  — 
something  you  can  feel  ;  something  you  can  taste. 
Come  on.  [^Exit  L. 

Susy.     Will  you  follow  him,  Mr.  Naylor? 

Nat.     While  such  an  angel  hovers  in  my  way  ? 

Thank  you ;  at  present,  think  I'd  rather  stay. 
Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Susy.     That's  very  pretty.     Going  to  stay  long? 


128'  Al^OVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Nat.  Well,  Miss  Susy,  I  cannot  say.  It  seems  to 
me  I  have  been  here  too  long  already. 

My  fluttering  heart  in  piteous  accents  cries, 
Naylor,  begone  ;  for  here  sweet  danger  lies. 
Impromptu.     Ahera ! 

Susy.  O,  there's  nothing  here  to  huii;  you ;  a  few 
snakes  and  woodchucks.  Ain't  afraid  of  woodchucks, 
are  you  ? 

Nat,     Were  they  as  fierce  as  lions,  I  would  rout, 
Yea,  from  your  presence  I  would  chuck  them  out. 
Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Susy.  O  what  a  man  for  rhyming !  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Naylor,  I  am  something  of  a  poet  ? 

Nat.  You?  Charming!  I  felt  there  was  some  hid- 
den beauty  about  you  which  attracted  me. 

Susy,     O  yes ;  I  make  verses  —  {aside)  as  ridiculous 
as  yours.     You'll  find  them  all  over  the  house.    There's 
a  sweet  little  legend  of  mine  over  the  back  door:  — 
Stranger  pilgrim,  pause  awhile  ; 

On  this  door-step,  broad  and  flat, 
Let  no  stains  of  earth  defile ; 
Wipe  your  boots  upon  the  mat. 
{Aside)  Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Nat.  Splendid  !  Beautiful !  The  true  poetic  prin- 
ciple. 

Susy.  Think  so  ?  Well,  here's  another.  Mine  are 
domestic  verses. 

Wanderer,  at  the  dizzy  brink 
Of  this  freshly-painted  sink, 
Beware  the  thrifty  housewife's  grow(e)l; 
On  its  peg  hang  up  the  towel. 
{Aside)  Impromptu.    Ahem! 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  129 

Nat  Exquisite!  So  appropriate !  Ah,  Miss  Snsy, 
I  toil  over  an  humble  rhyme  in  the  hope  that  one  of 
these  days  I  shall  strike  a  mine  of  poetic  metal  that 
shall  make  the  world  ring  with  the  music  of  my  verse. 
Now,  that's  a  pretty  sentiment,  if  I  could  only  put  it 
into  verse. 

Susy.     Perhaps  I  could  help  you. 

Nat,     O,  if  you  only  would,  I  should  adore  you. 

Susy,  Would  you?  Suppose  we  wander  in  the 
garden  —  there's  so  much  there  to  inspire  ? 

Nat,     With  pleasure.     ( Offers  his  arm.) 

Susy    {taking  it.)       You  want  to  strike  a  mine? 

Nat.     I  aim  to  reach  a  rich  poetic  mine. 

Susy.     As  green  and  sappy  as  a  towering  pine. 
How's  that? 

Nat.  Very  bad,  Miss  Susy.  Pines  have  nothing  in 
common  with  mines. 

Susy,  Certainly  they  do.  Ain't  they  both  blasted  ?; 
Well,  if  you  don't  like  that,  try  again. 

Nat,     Grant  me  to  find  the  true  poetic  mine, 

Susy.     That  laurels  may  my  burning  brow  entwine. 

Nat.  O,  that's  capital !  I  'd  be  the  poorest  scholar 
in  thy  school. 

Susy.  Stood  on  a  bench,  and  plainly  labelled  —  fool ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  Impromptu.  Ahem !  {Buns  off  c.)  Ha, 
ha,  ha! 

Nat  {following).    Now  Miss  Susy  !  how  could  you  ?  . 

[^Exit  c. 
{Enter  Grace,  r.  1  e.) 

Grace,     There's  something  in  Mr.  Thorpe's  manner 
I  do  not  like.     Twice  he  has  seized  my  hand  with  a^ 
9 


ISO  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

fervor  that  startled  me  ;  and  continnally  his  eyes  are 
fixed  upon  my  face  with  a  look  tlint  terrifies  me  {goes 
to  easel).  So  I've  left  him  to  listen  to  Miss  Gerrish's 
rhapsodies.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  So  romantic  {works  at  her 
picture), 

{Enter  Hester,  door  l.) 

Hester,     Good  morning,  Grace  {co7nes  to  easel). 

Grace  {extending  her  hand).  Good  morning,  dear 
friend.     We  have  missed  you  sadly. 

■Hester,  Indeed!  'Tis  pleasant  to  be  missed.  And 
how  comes  on  our  famous  picture  ? 

Grace,     Judge  for  yourself 

Hester  {looking  at  picture).  Ah,  better  and  better. 
It  improves  with  every  touch  of  your  brush  {lays  hand 
on  her  head).     Ah,  my  dear,  you  will  become  famous! 

Grace,     And  that  is  something  to  be  desired. 

Hester,  Yes ;  when  laurels  can  be  worn  modestly, 
as  you  will  wear  them  {removes  her  hand), 

Grace,  Don't  take  your  hand  away  ;  its  caress  sym- 
bolizes something  to  be  desired  more  than  laurels. 

Hester  {replacing  her  hand).     And  that  is  — 

Grace,     Affection.     O,    Mrs.    Thorne,   a    mother's 
touch  could  be  no  more    gentle  and   soothing  —  and 
that  I  have  not  felt  for  years, 
r  Hester  {kisses  her).     Poor  child  ! 

Grace,  O,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Thorne ;  you  are  a 
mother? 

Hester.  Alas !  a  childless  mother.  Once  I  clasped 
a  tiny  form,  showered  kisses  on  its  infant  lips,  stroked 
with  tenderness  its  golden  locks,  and  was  so  happy. 
But  we  were  parted  5  and  the  sweet  memory  of  that 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  131 

happy  union  are  all  that's  left  me  now.  O,  my  little 
daughter  I  my  darling,  darling  child  !     (  Weeps.) 

Grace.  (Bises  and  puts  her  arm  about  her  waist ; 
leads  her  dow7i  front.)  O,  would  I  could  take  that 
daughter's  place;  not  to  drive  her  from  your  heart,  but 
to  share  with  her  its  love  —  the  living  and  the  dead ! 

Hester.  O,  Grace,  there 's  a  tone  in  your  voice,  a 
look  on  your  face,  that  brings  her  back  to  me.  Had 
she  lived,  she  would  have  been  of  your  age. 

Grace,  Then  let  her  live  in  me.  I  could  toil  for 
you,  suffer  for  you,  to  be  recompensed  with  the  delight 
of  calling  you  "  mother." 

Hester.  Then  call  me  —  No,  no  ;  I  had  forgotten. 
Grace,  that  name  cannot  be  given  me  now.  My  fair 
fame  has  been  tampered  with.  O  Grace,  child,  pity 
me.  I  am  innocent  in  thought  and  deed,  but  the 
sharp  dart  of  suspicion  has  been  launched  at  me,  and 
I  must  bear  the  sting. 

Grace.  But  not  alone.  Let  me  share  your  sorrow  ; 
comfort  you  as  you  can  comfort  me. 

Hester.  No,  no,  it  cannot  be.  I  should  love  you  so 
dearly,  that  when  the  sneers  of  the  world  should  come 
—  as  come  they  would  —  and  should  part  us,  my  mis- 
ery would  be  more  than  I  could  bear.  Heaven  help 
me,  I  am  indeed  accursed !  ( Totters  to  arm-chair^ 
throws  herself  into  it ;  covers  Jierface  with  her  hand' 
kerchief  and  weeps.) 

Grace.,  c.     O,  this  is  cruel ! 

Thorpe  {outside  c).  Grace,  Grace  !  {Enters  c.  a^id 
comes  doion  r.)  You  little  witch,  why  do  you  run 
away  from  me,  when  I've  come  here  on  purpose  to  see 
you?     (^Takes  her  hand.)    Yes,  Grace,  to  woo  you? 


132  ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS. 

Grace.  To  woo  —  me  ?  (Hester  removes  Jier  hand- 
Jeer  chiefs  and  stares  at  him.) 

Thorpe,  Yes,  Grace ;  you  shall  be  my  wife :  I  love 
you  so  dearly. 

Grace,  No,  no,  not  that.  (  Snatches  atcay  her  hand, 
and  runs  b.,  leamng  him  staring  at  Hestek.)  Death 
rather.  \^Ex,it  r.  1  e. 

Thorpe  {amazed),     Hester  Thorn e ! 

Hester  {pending  forxoard).  Ay,  Alfred  Thorpe,  Hes- 
ter Thorne,  the  woman  you  have  wronged.  Coward  ! 
Twelve  years  have  not  changed  your  heart,  though 
your  locks  have  all  the  beauty  of  honorable  years. 
{Rises,) 

Thorpe,  Well,  we  meet  again.  How  ?  as  friends  or 
foes? 

Hester,  Can  you  ask  ?  Dare  you  ask?  You,  who 
with  smooth  tongue  and  smiling  face  blasted  a  happy 
home,  wrecked  a  good  man's  happiness,  and  sent  a  lov- 
ing woman  forth  to  battle  with  the  world. 

Thorpe.  Hm!  Well,  I  have  your  answer — Foes. 
So  be  it.     What  are  you  doing  here  ? 

Hester,     My  duty. 

Thorpe,  You  must  be  my  friend  Gaylord's  house- 
keeper. Strange  I  never  heard  your  name !  Perhaps 
you  have  changed  it? 

Hester,  No ;  'twas  a  good  name,  given  me  by  an 
honorable  man.  I  have  not  soiled,  so  should  not  blush 
to  bear  it. 

Thorpe,  Indeed  !  Well,  you  know  I  could  make 
this  place  too  hot  for  you  ? 

Hester,    Could  you  ?    Try  it. 


ABOVE  THE    CLOUDS.  13& 

Thorpe,  A  whisper  to  Gnylord,  and  the  house- 
keeper's place  would  be  vacant. 

Hester,  Do  not  leave  your  friend  in  the  dark.  Give 
him  your  confidence,  your  advice.  Be  an  honorable 
counsellor  —  you  are  so  fitted  for  it. 

Thorpe,  Hester  Thorne,  beware !  Do  not  tempt 
me  to  crush  you !  On  one  condition  I  am  silent.  Let 
not  that  girl  Grace  know  we  have  met  before. 

Hester,  Condition  ?  No ;  I  will  make  no  bargain 
with  a  villain.  Do  your  worst.  I  have  the  courage  — 
weak  woman  that  you  judge  me  —  to  fight  you  there 
—  the  power  to  win. 

Thorpe,  Enough.  I  know  my  duty  to  my  friend  ; 
be  assured  I  shall  perform  it. 

{Enter  Amos  l.,  with  a  valise  in  hand.) 

Amos,  Thoi-pe,  I  come  to  beg  your  pardon  for  a 
most  inhospitable  act.  1  am  called  away  suddenly ; 
have  ^VQ  minutes  to  catch  the  stage;  may  be  gone  two 
or  three  days.  Make  yourself  at  home  here,  and  trust 
your  comfort  to  Mrs.  Thorne.  Good-bye  {shakes  hands 
with  him).  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Thorne  {shakes  hands 
with  her^  then  goes  up). 

Thorpe.     But,  Gaylord,  one  word. 

Amos  {comes  down).  Well,  be  quick;  I've  no  time 
to  lose. 

Thorpe.  Well  —  {looks  at  Mrs.  Thoene  ;  she  smiles 
and  goes  up  stage  to  table.)  Amos,  you  believe  me  to 
be  your  friend? 

Amos.     Certainly. 

Thorpe,    That  woman  there  is  dangerous. 


134  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Amos  {whistles).  Yoii  don't  mean  it  ?  Well,  Thorpe, 
do  you  know,  I've  just  be<ijun  to  think  so? 

TJiorpe.  I've  met  her  before.  She  is  not  what  she 
seems.     She's  a  deserted  wife. 

Amos.     Is  she,  poor  thing? 

Thorpe.  Deserted  by  her  husband,  and  not  without 
cause.     I  could  tell  you  a  story. 

Amos.  But  I  haven't  time.  Goodness  gracious! 
how  my  legs  will  have  to  fly  now ! 

Thorpe.  And  you  will  trust  that  woman  here  after 
what  I  have  told  you  ? 

Amos.  Certainly.  Why  not,  Thorpe?  I'm  sur^ 
prised  at  you —  a  man  of  the  world,  you  know.  She 's 
a  good  housekeeper,  and  —  and  —  the  rest  is  my  secret 
{with  m^ocJc  pomposity).  The  mysteries  of  my  "  sim- 
ple, honest  country  life"" — ahem! — can  scarcely  interest 
you  —  the  man  of  intrigue,  you  know.  Don't  be  fright- 
ened, she  won't  hurt.  Good-bye  {goes  up).  Ah,  Mrs.' 
Thorne,  I  believe  I  forgot  to  shake  hands  with  you 
{gives  hand). 

Hester.     A  pleasant  journey,  sir. 

Amos.  Thank  you.  Take  good  care  of  yourself 
{with  a  look  at  Thorpe).  I  know  you'll  care  for  the 
comfort  of  my  guest,  for  I  have  every  confidence  in 
you;  nothing  could  shake  that.    Good-bye  {runs  offo.), 

Thorpe.  Curse  that  woman!  she  has  bewitched 
him  {goesn.). 

Hester  {coming  down  l.).  Well,  Mr.  Thorpe,  it 
seems  your  power  to  harm  me  here  is  weak. 

[^Exit  door  l, 

Thorpe.    Time  will  tell. 


ABOVE  THE  CLOITDS.  135 

(Miter  Grace  and  Lucretia,  arfn  in  arm^  k.) 

Lucretia,     Perfectly  enchanting !    I  had  no  idea  the 

country  could  be  —  so  romantic  !     O,  Mr.  Thoi-pe,  I 

have  had  such  an  Arcadian  ramble  in  the  farm-yard, 

Beeins:  the  little  chickens  runninsr  about  with  the  Oban- 
's o 

don  of  children  ;  the  fatherly  roosters  with  their  clarion 
chorus;  and  the  motherly  biddies,  with  their  careful 
affection  for  their  young.  Even  the  swine  in  their 
rustic  abode,  with  the  little  pink-nosed  pigs  frolicking 
about  them,  was  a  delicious  picture  —  so  romantic ! 
{Goes  to  lounge.) 

JPhil  {outside).     Not  for  me  —  not  for  me.     There's  ' 
freedom    without.      I'll    be    none   of  your   hot-house 
flowers.     Good-bye. 

Grace,  Ah !  there's  Crazy  Phil.  I've  lured  him  in 
once  ;  I'll  try  it  again. 

Thorpe.     Shall  I  never  get  a  word  with  her? 

Grace  {at  door ;  smiles  off).  He  sees  me.  Yes,  I 
triumph.     He  's  here.     (Phil  runs  up  to  c.  with  gun.) 

Phil.  Ah,  those  bright  eyes  again !  There 's  magic 
in  their  glance.  Wife  —  child  —  home  —  come  back 
to  this  desolate  heart ! 

Thorpe.  Ah  !  {Aside)  Brought  to  light  at  last. 
{Aloud)  Crazy  Phil  indeed!     Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Phil  {starts).  Ah,  that  voice  !  'Tis  he — the  de- 
stroyer !  Years  come  and  go,  but  fate  holds  the  lines 
of  life.  We  meet  at  last,  —  despoiler  of  my  home ! 
Wretch  accursed  !  Death  to  thee  !  Death-  to  thee ! 
{Paises  gun.) 

Grace,    No,  no.  {Puns  down  to  Thorpe  and  throws 


136  ABOVE   THE   CLOUDS. 

aimis  about  his  neck.)  He 's  mad !  he 's  mad  !  (How- 
ard enters  door  c,  seizes  Phil  around  waist,  ajid 
snatches  gun.) 

Hoxeard.     Madman,  hold ! 

Phil  (struggling  to  free  himself).  Away !  He's 
mine  —  he's  mine  !  Foul  bird  of  prey !  you  feasted  at 
my  hearth-stone ;  you  plucked  from  ojut  my  heart  my 
life  !  my  love !  Henceforth  you  are  marked  ;  my  aim 
is  sure.     Beware  of  Phil  Thorne  ! 

{Enter  Mrs.  Thorne,  l.) 

Hester.  Phil !  —  my  husband !  {Falls  with  her  arm 
and  head  in  arm-chair.) 

Tableau.  Phil  at  door  c,  his  clenched  hand  raised. 
Howard,  with  arm  about  waist,  holding  himn  back, 
Thorpe  r.  Grace,  with  arms  about  his  neck,  head 
on  his  breast,  Hester  lying  with  her  head  in  arm- 
chair. LucEETiA  on  lounge,  looking  on. 
[^Slow  Curtain,"^     ^ 


^'^Z' 


ABOVE   THE  CLOUDS.  ISt 


Act II. —  Scene:  Same  as  iyi  Act  I.  Easel  removed 
from,  the  stage.  Foot  of  lounge  turned  toward 
window,  R.  Moonlight  through  window  strong  on 
Phil,  who  lies  upon  lounge^  hoots  changed  for  slip- 
pers. Howard  standing  at  head  of  lounge^  leaning , 
against  flat ^  his  hand  on  Phil's  head,  Hester 
standing  behind  window  in  flat,  looking  in  at  Phil. 
Footlights  down.  Music  soft  and  low  at  rising 
of  curtain, 

Phil,  How  grandly  the  moonlight  tips  my  old  hut 
above  the  clouds!  Dear  old  place;  would  I  were 
there,  where  all  is  peace.  Ah,  Howard,  when  I  de- 
scend that  mountain,  I  leave  behind  my  better  self. 
The  sight  of  the  habitations  of  man  awakes  bit- 
ter* memories  of  wrong  and  outrage,  fill  me  with 
loathing  of  my  race,  and  stir  my  baser  nature  with 
fierce  desires  for  revenge.  Why  is  it?  Here  I  am 
always  under  the  clouds ;  dark,  dismal  night  forever 
here. 

Howard.  And  yet  the  moonlight  lingers  as  loving- 
ly about  you  here  as  there.  See  how  it  floods  the 
fields  and  shimmers  on  the  stream.  Ah,  Phil,  'tis  a 
beautiful  world  —  this  of  ours;  and,  whether  on  the 
mountain-top  or  in  the  valley,  robed  in  light  or  darkness 
at  the  desire  of  our  own  hearts. 

Phil,     That's  queer  philosophy ! 

Howard,  'Tis  the  truth,  Phil.  I  am  young  and 
buoyant;  life  has  gone   smoothly  for  me,  and  all  is 


138  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

light.  You  have  siiffererl  —  still  suffer ;  and  the  dark- 
ness of  night  has  fallen  upon  your  heart,  blinding  your 
eyes  to  all  the  beauty  about  you.     Am  I  not  right  ? 

Phil.     Why  am  I  lying  here,  Howard  ? 

Howard,     I  am  glad  to  hear  you  ask  that,  Phil.  'Tis 
three  days  since  you  were  suddenly  prostrated.     You 
remember  the  day  we  went  gunning —  Monday? 
•     Phil     Yes. 

Howard.  On  our  return  you  were  suddenly  taken 
ill,  and  until  this  afternoon  you  were  unconscious. 

PhiL  Yes.  Well,  I'm  better  now.  But  why  was 
I  taken  ill  ? 

Howard,     Well,  you  don't  care  to  know  that,  Phil  ? 

Phil,  You  need  not  pause,  Howard.  I  know  I 
met  here  under  your  roof  my  wife  and  —  and  — 

Howard,     Mr.  Thorpe. 

Phil,  Under  the  same  roof,  —  he,  the  false,  —  and 
she,  the  faithless  !  O,  Howard  that  man  —  that  fiend  I 
Where  is  he?     Did  I  slay  him? 

Hoioard.     He  is  gone  ;  wheie,  I  know  not. 

Phil  {starting  to  his  feet).  No  matter;  I'd  reach 
him,  were  he  at  the  centre  of  the  earth.  Curse  him ! 
I  thought  long  years  had  dulled  my  spirit;  but  the 
sight  of-  him  has  aroused  the  avenging  demon  in  my 
soul,  nought  but  his  life  can  satisfy.     (  Goes  to  r.) 

Howard  {comes  down  l.).  No,  no,  Phil ;  forget  your 
wrongs  ;  forgive  your  enemy. 

Phil  (r.).  Forgive  him  ?  Howard,  that  man  was 
my  dearest  friend.  We  both  loved  one  woman.  She 
chose  me;  and  he,  clasj^ing  my  hand,  wished  me  hap- 
piness, and  fled  abroad,  to  crush  out  his  passion.    Well, 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  13t 

Ins  wish  was  fulfilled.  I  was  happy,  supremely  happy. 
Wife  and  child  —  two  golden  links  in  life's  chain  — were 
mine.  Then  he  returned,  still  my  friend.  With  full 
faith  in  Ids  friendship,  I  received  him  a  w^elcome  guest 
in  my  home.  Then,  then,  over  the  sunshine  of  my 
life  rolled  the  dark  clouds.  He  was  one  of  your  soci- 
ety-men —  glib  of  tongue,  ready  to  fetch  and  carry  at 
the  glance  of  a  bright  eye  ;  all  smiles  and  pretty  ways 
—  bah  !  a  ladies'  man  —  while  I  was  brusque  and  some- 
times rough,  —  though  not  to  her  —  no,  not  to  hen 
(  Crosses  to  k.)  I  saw  she  was  pleased  at  his  attentions* 

Howard.     And  you  were  jealous  ? 

Phil.  Not  then.  But  one  day  I  saw  him  slip  a  note 
into  her  hand;  another;  caught  him  at  her  feet;  and 
then,  filled  with  fury,  I  followed  him  from  the  house 
to  his  hotel,  and  there  faced  him  and  demanded  an 
explanation.  Then,  Howard,  that  man, —  my  friend', 
trembling  in  every  limb,  with  tears  streaming  down  liis 
cheeks,  —  confessed  to  me  that  he  still  loved  my  wife ; 
and  more,  that  she  loved  him ;  showed  me  letters 
signed  with  the  name  I  gave  lier,  confessing  her  mis*- 
take  in  making  me  her  choice.  In  maddening  rage  I 
felled  him  to  the  floor  and  fled  —  fled  to  my  now  un- 
happy home  {comes  to  l.). 

Howard.     And  your  wife  ? 

Phil.  Lay  sleeping  sweetly  with  a  smile  upon  her 
lips,  my  child  beside  her.  I  raised  my  hand  with  pas- 
sion, to  dash  out  of  that  face  the  beauty  that  had  so 
deceived  me.  But  I  could  not  do  it.  I  snatched  the 
child  from  its  mother's  side,  and  went  out  into  the 
night  —  night  to  me  for  evermore. 


140  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Hoxoard,  Without  a  word  from  your  wife,  Phil? 
Condemned  her  you  had  sworn  to  love,  cherish,  and 
protect?  Crazy  Phil  indeed!  You  were  a  madman 
then! 

Phil,  Had  I  not  proofs  ?  Her  letters  —  the  con- 
fession of  my  friend  ? 

Hoxcard,  Friend?  Base  coward  that  he  was! 
False  to  her;  false  to  you!  One  w^ord  of  denial  from 
her  lips  —  the  wife  of  your  bosom,  the  mother  of  your 
child  —  should  have  outweighed  his  guilty  confession 
a  thousand-fold.  Tell  me,  Phil  —  you  sought  her  after- 
wards ? 

Phil,  No,  never ;  since  that  night  we  have  been 
strangers.  Never  met  until  I  found  them  here  together. 
You  hear,  Howard,  —  together  here! 

Howard.  A  mere  accident.  Mrs  Thome  is  our 
housekeeper.     Thorpe,  my  father's  friend  and  guest. 

Phil,  Ah,  you  know  not  that  man  —  this  w^o- 
mau ! 

Howard,  I  know  no  woman  base  enough  to  betray 
a  loving  husband's  confidence.  I  will  not  believe  this 
of  her  whom  I  respect  and  honor  as  I  did  my  mother. 
Phil,  you  must  meet  her  here,  listen  to  the  story  from 
her  lips. 

Phil,  No,  I  will  not  meet  her.  I  will  back  to  my 
hut  above  the  clouds. 

Howard,  And  leave  her  still  under  the  cloud  that 
has  saddened  her  life.  O,  Phil !  Phil !  I  thought  you 
true  and  noble. 

Phil,  Think  what  you  will.  Wronged  by  my  friend, 
betrayed  by  my  wife,  I  have  lost  all  worth  living  for. 


ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS.  141 

{Fiercely.)  I  hate  the  world  ;  I  hate  myself!  Let  me 
go  !  —  there  —  there  —  {totters), 

Hoicard  {supporting  him).  Not  to-night,  Phil.  You 
are  weak,  ill.  Forgive  me ;  it  was  cruel  in  me  to  probe 
those  angry  wonnrls.  Come  back  to  your  room.  We 
are  friends  still,  Phil. 

Phil  {taking  his  hand).  Heaven  bless  you,  Howard ! 
Pve  none  but  you  now.  Don't  speak ;  something  in 
your  words  has  stirred  me  strangely.  Be  silent  ;  let 
me  think  ;  let  me  rest.  {Music  soft ;  Phil  leads  him 
off  door  L.  Hester  comes  down  slowly^  c,  loatching 
the  door,) 

Hester.  I  have  heard  his  voice;  unobserved  listened 
to  his  story.  How  he  has  misconceived  my  actions.  Hea- 
ven, myself,  and  he  the  wily  plotter  alone  know.  He 
confessed  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  base  hypocrite !  O, 
Phil,  my  husband  —  lost  to  me !  He  shall  confess  once 
more;  confess  the  truth  —  the  honest  truth,  to  do  me 
justice.  Fool  that  I  have  been  !  I  have  allowed  sus- 
picion to  crush  me  to  the  earth,  without  one  effort  to 
clear  my  name.  Now  my  woman's  nature  is  in  arms 
against  this  base  injustice  {comes  to  r.).  I  am  not 
friendless  ;  those  true-hearted  sons  of  the  soil  —  Hea- 
ven bless  them  !  —  believe  me,  trust  me.  They  have 
given  me  courage  to  seek  the  weakness  in  this  villain's 
armor.  Hester,  be  brave,  be  resolute,  and  victory  may 
yet  be  yours.  \^Exit  r.  1  b. 

{Enter  Grace,  c.) 

Grace.  O  dear!  for  the  first  time  I  feel  really 
homesick !     There 's   no  pleasure   in   roaming   in   th« 


142  ABOVE  THEL  CLOUDS. 

moonlight  alone ;  it  requires  two  to  take  in  the  full 
beauty  of  a  night  like  this!  Heigho  I  I  miss  my  usual 
escoit.  {Takes  hook  from  table^  and  goes  to  lounge ; 
sits.)  Whittier.  (Opens  book.)  "Howard  Gaylord." 
So,  so  —  my  farmer  friend  is  an  admirer  of  our  New 
England  poet.  It's  been  well  thumbed,  too,  especially 
"Among  the  Hills."     {Beads.) 

"  From  school,  and  ball,  and  rout,  she  came, 
The  city's  fair,  pale  daughter, 
To  drink  the  wine  of  mountain  air, 
Beside  the  Bearcamp  Water.** 

That's  splendid !  my  own  favorite,  —  and  it  seems  to 
be  his  too.  The  leaves  are  dog-eared,  and  the  page 
muddy  with  finger  marks.     O, 

**  The  city's  fair,  pale  daughter," 

must  be  very  dear  to  him.  I  wonder  if  in  his  heart- 
picture  she  bears  any  resemblance  to  me  ?  O,  here  he 
is !     {Beads.) 

(jE/?-^^  Howard,  door  l.) 

Howard  {aside).  Reading  in  the  moonlight.  What 
a  pretty  picture  she  makes !  Alone  —  there's  a  temp- 
tation. If  I  only  had  the  gift  of  tongue  that  graces  her 
city  admirers,  I  might  —  well  —  say  that  which  would 
make  us  strangers.  I  could  not  bear  her  scorn. 
{Aloud)  Reading  by  moonlight?  Take  care.  Miss 
Grace ;  even  the  brightness  of  your  eyes  may  be 
dimmed. 

Grace  {looking  up).  Ah,  Mr.  Gaylord,  there's  no 
danger:  'tis  as  light  as  noonday. 


ABOVE    THE   CLOUDS.  143 

Hoicard,  Tlie  book  must  be  very  interesting  that 
can  so  attract  you. 

Grace,  It  is.  I  ain  "  Among  the  Hills,"  and  you 
step  in  very  apropos, 

Howard,  "Among  the  Hills?"  Then  you  are  in 
that  region  of  the  unequalled  poet's  fancy,  where  I 
most  delight  to  wander. 

Grace,  I  sliould  think  so  by  the  appearance  of  your 
book.  Were  you  a  boy  at  school,  you  would  get  many 
bad  marks  for  the  very  bad  marks  you  have  placed 
upon  it. 

Howard.  I  am  a  boy  at  school,  Miss  Grace  —  the 
school  of  the  painter.     Will  you  teach  nie  ? 

Grace,  I  ?  I  am  but  a  scholar.  You  know  the 
poem  ? 

Howard.  By  heart.  I  could  repeat  it  word  for 
word. 

Grace.  'Tis  very  odd  you  should  have  dropped  in 
just  at  this  time,  for  I  was  reading.     {Reads.) 

"  She  sat  beneath  the  broad-armed  elms 
That  skirt  the  mowing-meadow, 
And  watched  the  gentle  west-wind  weave 
The  grass  with  sliine  and  shadow." 

Now  here 's  where  you  came  in  : 

*'  Beside  her,  from  the  summer  heat 
To  share  her  grateful  screening, 
With  forehead  bared,  the  farmer  stood, 
Upon  his  pitchfork  leaning." 

Only  you  haven't  the  pitchfork. 

Howard.  Go  on.  I  could  listen  to  you  all  night; 
you  throw  so  much  heart  into  it. 


144  ABOVE   THE  CLOUDS. 

Grace.    Do  I?     {Reads,) 

"  Framed  in  its  damp,  dark  locks,  his  face 
Had  nothing  mean  or  common,  — 
Strong,  manly,  true,  the  tenderness 
And  pride  beloved  of  woman. 

**  She  looked  up,  glowing  with  the  health 
The  country  air  had  brought  her. 
And,  laugliing,  said,  '  You  lack  a  wife, 
Your  mother  lacks  a  daughter. 

**  *  To  mend  your  frock  and  bake  your  bread 
You  do  not  need  a  lady ; 
Be  sure  among  these  brown  old  homes 
Is  some  one  waiting  ready.'  " 

Grace,  O,  I  forgot  you  have  no  mother!  But  the  rest 
is  true.     There  is  "  some  one  waiting  ready." 

Howard,  In  "  these  brown  old  homes  "  ?  No,  I  am 
free  to  take  up  the  burden  of  the  lay.  {Mecites  with 
spirit,) 

**  He  bent  his  black  brows  to  a  frown, 

He  set  his  white  teeth  tightly. 

*  'Tis  well,'  he  said,  *  for  one  like  you 

To  choose  for  me  so  lightly. 

"  *  You  think  me  deaf  and  blind;  you  bring 
Your  winning  graces  hither 
As  free  as  if  from  cradle-time 
We  two  had  played  together. 

**  *  You  tempt  me  with  your  laughing  eyei^ 
Your  cheeks  of  sundown's  blushes, 
A  motion  as  of  waving  grain, 
A  music  as  of  thrushes. 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  145 

"  *  No  mood  is  mine  to  seek  a  wife, 
Or  daughter  for  my  mother ; 
Who  loves  you  loses  in  that  love 
All  power  to  love  another ! 

**  *  I  dare  your  pity  or  your  scorn, 

With  pride  your  own  exceeding ; 
I  fling  my  heart  into  your  lap 
(Kneels  at  her  feet.) 

Without  a  word  of  pleading.*  " 

O,  Grace,  Grace,  it  is  the  truth.  I  love  you,  and  you 
aione.     (  Takes  her  hand,) 

Grace,    Why,  that's  not  in  the  poem. 

Howard.    No  ;   it  is  in  my  heart. 

Grace,  {Looks  at  him  archly  ;  places  her  hand  in 
his.)     It's  a  pity  to  spoil  the  poem.     {Becites.) 

"  She  looked  up  in  his  face  of  pain 

So  archly,  yet  so  tender : 
*  And  if  I  lend  you  mine,'  she  said,- 
'  Will  you  forgive  the  lender  ? 

«*  *  Nor  frock  nor  tan  can  hide  the  man ; 
And  see  you  not,  my  farmer. 
How  weak  and  fond  a  woman  waits 
Behind  this  silken  armor  ? 

{Puts  her  hand  on  his  shoulder^  and  looks  doton  into 
his  eyes.) 

"  *  I  love  you ;  on  that  love  alone, 
And  not  my  worth,  presuming, 
Will  you  not  trust  for  summer  fruit 
The  tree  in  May-day  blooming?  *" 

Howard,  as  frankly  as  you  offered,  as  freely  will  I  re- 
10     ' 


146  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

ceivc,  yours  —  yours  alone.     {Kisses  his  brow.     Both 
rise,)  • 

Howard,  Ah,  Grace,  Grace ;  you  have  made  me 
very  happy.  {Puts  his  arm  about  her  waist,)  Come, 
let's  go  into  the  garden. 

"  And  so  the  farmer  found  a  wife, 
His  mother  found  a  daughter ; 
Gheace,  There  looks  no  happier  home  than  her» 

On  pleasant  Bearcarop  Water." 

Soward,     Ah,  Grace,  Heaven  bless  the  dear  poet. 

Grace.  It  does,  "for  all  his  works  do  praise  him. ** 
{They pass  off  through  the  window  b,,  his  arm  about 
her  waist,) 

{Enter  Nat,  c,  icith  Susy  leaning  on  his  arm.) 

Susy.  Why,  Mr.  Nnylor,  what's  the  matter  with 
you?     You  have  not  made  a  rhyme  for  the  last  hour. 

Nat,  The  minstrel's  strings  are  mute  ;  the  fire  upon 
the  altar  of  poesy  smouMers  ;  the  theme  which  agitates 
my  brain  respectfully  declines  to  shape  itself  for  utter- 
ance —  because  why  ? 

Susy.     Well,   perhaps   the    strings   are   rotten,  the 
wood  green,  and  the  theme  too  weighty  ? 
•  Nat.     O,  for  seraphic  light  to  break  the  gloom. 

Susy,  Wouldn't  moonlight  do  as  well?  There's 
plenty  of  it  here  {sits  on  lounge). 

Nat  {standing  c.) 

Cold  Luna  floods  thee  with  her  silvery  light, 
O,  beauteous  maid,  ne'er  saw  I  fairer  sight. 

Susy  {aside).    The  wood  is   sizzling  on  the  altar ; 


ABOVE   THE  CLOUDS^  l47 

we'll  soon  have  another  blaze.  {Aloud)  Don't  be  so 
distant.  Come,  sit  down.  (Nat  sits,)  Now  what  m 
this  mighty  theme  ? 

Nat,    'Tis  Love  —  ecstatic  Love. 

/Susi/.     O ! 

JVizt.     I  wander  up  and  down  in  strange  unrest, 
For  love  is  struggling  —  is  struggling  — 

Susy,     Underneath  my  vest.     That's  good. 

JVat.     O,  no,  no. 

Susi/,  Ha,  ha,  ha !  That's  what  I  call  clothing  a 
sentiment  in  warm  language.     Well,  what  next  ? 

JVat,  Nothing.  There  it  struggles,  there  it  sticks. 
O,  Susy,  Susy,  I'm  getting  — 

/Sus^/.     Boozy.     That's  a  capital  rhyme. 

Nat,     Miss  Susy  Gaylord,  you  shock  me  ! 

/Susy,  Do  I  ?  That's  a  shocking  confession  when 
I'm  doing  my  best  to  help  you.  I  told  you  I  w^ould. 
Now,  isn't  that  moon  splendid  ?  See  the  trees  yonder, 
with  leaves  of  silver  (both  look  off  e.). 

{Enter  Chips,  c.) 

Chips  {at  door),  I  was  just  going  by.  Ah,  there 
they  are  billing  and  cooing  like  a  couple  of  lunatics, 
(  Creeps  down  stage  to  arm-chair^  turns  it  round  so  that 
hack  is  towards  Nat  ;  gets  on  his  knees  in  it^  and 
watches  them  over  the  top  while  speaking,)  I'm  blowed 
if  I  don't  hear  what's  going  on.  I  ain't  going  to  be 
cut  out  with  Susy  without  a  wrestle. 

Nat,  A  fairy  scene.  It  moves  me,  thrills  me  ;  my 
heart  heaves  with  bliss. 

Chips  {aside).  Well,  clap  on  a  little  mustard,  and 
make  it  blister. 


148  ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS. 

Kat,  And  see  those  fairy  forms  moving  among  the 
trees. 

Chips  {aside).  Fairy  forms  ?  I'm  darned  if  Gaylord's 
pigs  ain't  got  loose  again. 

Nat,  Ah,  for  a  poet's  home  in  that  delightful  grove, 
with  an  angel  ever  at  my  side —  that  angel  you. 

Susy,  Law,  Mr.  Naylor,  how  you  do  go  on  ;  first 
Chips  calls  me  an  angel,  and  now  you. 

Nat,     Chips  ?     Mention  not  that  rustic  booby. 

Chips,  Booby !  ( Gets  out  of  chair  ;  starts  towards 
Nat,  then  rims  back.) 

.   Susy  (rises  indifjnantly).     Booby  !     How  dare  you 
en  11  my  friend  such  a  name ! 

Nat,  It  is  the  truth  :  he  is  a  rough,  uncouth  booby. 
I  know  he  seeks  to  gain  your  love.  But  when  I,  with 
my  pure,  po:  tic  nature,  tell  you  —  sweet  and  beautiful 
dnnisel — that  your  charms  have  kindled  a  flame  in 
this  before  obdurate  heart;  that  I  love  you  — 

Susy,  No  more,  sir.  Booby  indeed  !  Curtis  Chip- 
mnn  is  fir  above  you  in  manhood,  nobility,  and  good- 
ness. He  is  rough  and  uncouth  as  the  rocky  soil  he 
with  his  strong  hands  has  made  to  bring  forth  abun- 
dant fruits.  A  man,  sir,  and  not  a  maudlin  idiot  filled 
with  gush  and  moonshine.     {Comes  down  e.) 

Nat  {goes  to  c).  And  have  I  been  deceived  in  you  ? 
you,  whose  poetic  nature,  blending  with  mine  — 

Susy,  lias  sported  with  you.  Yes.  O,  Mr.  Nay- 
lor, go  back  to  your  attic.  Live  in  the  clouds  ;  feed  on 
Poesy's  hills  —  you'll  find  no  mate  in  me. 

Nat,       Alas  !  I  am  deceived !  My  heart  is  crushed — 
My  spirit  broken  — 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS*  149 

Susy.    And  your  verses   mushed! 
Ha,  ha,  ha !    Good-bye,  my  poet.    We  might  have  been 
good  friends ;  but  when  you  attack  Chips  —  my  Chips  — 

The  rustic  booby,  really  I  must  laugh, 

For  I  propose  to  be  his  better  half. 

Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Kat,     Farewell,  cold  Susy,  I  have  wooed  in  vain ! 

Susy,  You  have  ;  your  wood  is  green  and  crossed  in 
grain. 
Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

Ifat  {at  door,  c.) .   Farewell.   I'm  blasted — blasted. 

l^xit  c. 

Chips  (aside).  I'm  a  blasted  liar  if  I  don't  wal- 
lop him !  (Huns  up  and  catches  Susy  in  his  arms  / 
swings  her  round.)  O,  Susy,  Susy  —  you  are  an  angel ! 
(Susy  screams  /     Chips  7^uns  off  c.) 

Susy.  Well,  I  never!  Chips  has  heard  all.  There's 
no  more  fun  for  me.  Dear  me,  I've  forgotten  Mr.  Tur- 
tle's hourly  lunch  !     He'll  be  raving  and  starving  too. 

\_Mcit  door  l. 

(Enter,  c,  Turtle  with  Miss  Lucretia  on  his  arm.) 

Lucretia.  So  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Turtle,  to  wander 
with  me  in  the  beautiful  night ;  it  quite  fills  an  aching 
void  —  so  romantic. 

Turtle  (aside).  It  gives  me  an  aching  void  —  so 
hungry. 

Lucretia  (going  towards  window).  Is  this  the 
'  witching  hour  of  night,'  which  the  poet  so  beautifully 
speaks  of? 

Turtle.  Can't  say  (looking  at  his  watch).  It's  my 
hour  for  lunch. 


150  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Lucretia  {sits  on  lounge).  What  a  delightful  situ- 
ation ;  moonbeams  shrouding  me  as  in  a  silver  veil ! 
Ah,  I've  often  dreamed  of  such  an  hour  as  this  —  a 
scene  like  this  —  when  the  future  partner  of  my  joys 
and  sorrows  should  claim  me  for  his  own  —  so  ro- 
mantic. 

Turtle  (aside).  Well,  she  lives  on  dreams,  I'm 
glad  I  don^t. 

Lucretia,  He  must  be  one  who  would  love  me  for 
myself  alone,  and  not  for  my  money. 

Turtle  {aside.)  Has  the  old  girl  got  money? 
{Aloud.)  O.  Miss  Lucretia,  could  there  live  a  wretch 
who,  looking  upon  your  charms,  would  dare  to  woo 
you  for  your  fortune  ?  {Aside.)  That's  neat  and  non- 
committal. {Aloud.)  And  yet,  your  fortune  renders 
you  independent  of  all  suitors.     A  few  thousands  — 

Zfucretia.  A  few  ?  I  can  count  by  tens  of  thou- 
sands ! 

Twrtle  {aside).  Tens?  She's  a  rich  old  girl.  What 
dinners  !  —  what  suppers  !  {Approaching  her  tender- 
ly) My  dear  Miss  Lucretia,  what  would  be  hundreds 
of  thousands  to  the  man  who,  knowing  your  virtues, 
basking  in  your  smiles,  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to 
win  you? 

Lucretia.  Then  you  believe  in  love,  Mr.  Turtle ; 
pure,  genuine  love,  that  scorns  wealth  and  station  ? 

Turtle.  Unbounded  love !  Yes,  Lucretia  {sits  be- 
side her). 

Lucretia.     Love  and  a  cottage  —  so  romantic. 

Turtle.  Yes,  Lucretia.  {Aside.)  Love-cake  and 
cottage-pudding. 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  151 

Lucretia,  With  innocent  lambs  sporting  about  the 
door. 

Turtle,  Yes,  Lucretia.  (^Asid^  Or  smoking  on  the 
table. 

Lucretia,  And  the  birds  —  What  is  your  favorite 
bird  ? 

Turtle.  My  favorite  bird  ?  (Aside)  Quail  on  toast. 
{Aloud)  The  cook — (9,  dear  Miss  Lucretia. 

Lucretia,     And  your  favorite  flower  ? 

Turtle  {aside).  Best  Family.  {Aloud)  The  Marry 
gold,  Miss  Lucretia. 

Lucretia^     And  your  favorite  seat?  , 

Turtle  {aside).  At  the  dinner-table.  {Aloud)  Un- 
der the  oak,  Lucretia. 

Lucretia,     And  your  favorite  vegetable  ? 

Turtle  {aside).  Rare  dishes.  {Aloud)  I  could  not 
turn  up  my  nose  at  any  of  them,  Miss  Lucretia. 

Lucretia.  Ah,  what  taste  you  have  -^  so  romantic. 
This  is  my  dream  of  bliss  —  a  cottage  and  a  companion 
—  bonds  of  affection  and  notes  of  gladness. 

Turtle.  My  heart  echoes  the  glad  refrain.  {Aside) 
Government  bonds  and  bank  notes. 

Lucretia.     What  a  delightful  picture — so  romantic. 

Turtle  {aside).  Such  a  picture  should  have  a  gold 
frame.  {Aloud)  Dear  Miss  Lucretia,  could  you  look 
with  favor  on  me  —  share  your  tens  of  thousands  — 

Lucretia.  Romantic  visions,  castles  in  the  sky  ;  so 
ethereal ;  so  much  more  to  be  enjoyed  than  palaces  of 
earth  —  my  wealth,  my  all.  What  care  I  for  the  well- 
filled  pui-se  which  another  squanders?  I  am  poor  in 
lucre,  but  a  millionnaire  in  love.  O,  Titus,  spare  mj 
blushes !    Yes  —    {Leans  upon  his  shoulder.) 


158  ABOVE  THE  CLOUD& 

Turtle  {aside).  She's  poor  as  porridge.  Here's  a 
scrape. 

Lucretia.  O,  Titus,  "  Whisper  what  thou  feelest." 
So  romantic  in  the  moonshine. 

Turtle  (aside).  Hang  it,  it's  all  moonshine.  (Aloud) 
Lucretia,  I  feel  —  I  feel  —  (aside)  hungry 

JOucretia.  I  have  so  longed  for  this  delicious  mo- 
ment. 

Turtle  (aside).  No  doubt  of  it.  (Aloud)  Miss  Lucre- 
tia, when  I  asked  you  to  look  with  favor  upon  me,  I  felt 
how  unworthy  I  was  of  your  affection  ;  how  badly 
fitted  I  am  to  become  your  protector.  This  slender 
frame  — 

Lucretia,  What  care  I  for  the  frame ;  it's  the  treas- 
ure within  I  covet  —  the  heart,  Titus  —  the  heart. 
Nothing  shall  tear  me  from  you  ! 

(Enter  Susy,  l.,  with  candles^  which  she  places  on 
table,) 

Turtle  (aside).     O,  here's  a  situation. 

Susy  (aside),  I  declare !  Making  love !  I'll  spoil 
that.  (Aloud)  Your  lunch  is  ready  —  cold  shoulder 
of  mutton. 

Turtle  (jumps  up).     O  glorious  signal  of  relief! 

Lucretia.  O,  Titus,  you  will  not  leave  me  in  this 
delicious  moment  ? 

Turtle.  For  that  delicious  shoulder  I  must,  Lucre- 
tia. My  heart  says  stay  ;  my  stomach  says  go.  The 
mighty  always  conquer  the  weak.  I'd  offer  thee  this 
hand  of  mine,  if  I  could  —  could  —  banish  the  cold 
shoulder,  —  if  I  could  inhabit  your  airy  castles.     But 


ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS.  15* 

look  at  my  size  ;  look  at  my  waist !  I  cannot  feed  on 
love.  Farewell ;  be  happy  with  another  ;  I've  not  the 
least  objection.  I'll  do  the  snme;  I'll  be  liappy  with 
another.     (Aside)  The  cold  shoulder.  [-SJxit  l. 

Lucretia.  The  wi-etch  !  —  tlie  gourmand  !  the  —  O  ! 
desert  me  for  a  cold  shoulder!  —  me,  who  has  reposed 
upon  his  warm  shoulder !  O,  I  could  cry  —  but  I 
won't.  I'll  wander  hke  a  spectre  amid  the  trees,  bro- 
ken-hearted.    So  romantic.         [^Exit  through  window, 

Susy.  Now,  I  wonder  where  she's  going  at  this 
time  of  night?  (Goes  to  window.)  O  my  goodness  ! 
There's  Chips  and  that  Naylor  chap  stripping  oft' their 
coats  out  there  in  the  pasture !  I  do  believe  they're 
going  to  fight!     Chips!     Chips! 

\_Exit  through  window. 

{Enter  Phil,  door  l.) 

Phil,  I  cannot  rest.  When  I  close  my  eyes,  the 
sleeping  face  of  my  wife  comes  before  me  as  I  saw  it 
that  night,  as  innocent  in  its  expression  as  the  child's 
that  slept  beside  lier.  Have  I  been  mistaken  ?  Have 
I  all  these  years  been  fighting  a  demon  of  my  own 
conjuring  ?  —  all  these  years,  with  no  confidant,  blind- 
ly treading  the  path  of  error?  This  boy  —  with  his 
chivalrous  honor,  makes  me  blush  with  shame.  He 
loves  her,  esteems  her,  —  she  who  was  to  him  a  stran- 
ger but  a  few  short  months  ago;  —  while  I,  with  her 
life  knit  to  mine  by  the  tenderest  tie,  have  blasted  her 
name,  made  her  a  creature  to  be  shunned,  by  my  base 
desertion  of  her,  —  perhaps  without  cause.  I'll  not 
be   hasty,  but    I   will   hear  the   story  from  her  lips. 


154  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Perhaps  — •  perhaps  - —  O,  Heavens  !  if  she  is  innocent 
. —  what  am  I  ?  A  wretch  too  base  to  live.  Let  me 
not  think  of  that.  If  she  be  innocent,  how  gladly  would 
I  die  to  clear  her  name  {sloichj  crosses  stage  and  exits 
through  window^  r.). 

Amos  {outside).  Hallo !  Susy !  Howard !  Mrs.  Thorne  ! 
{Enters  c.)  Well,  well,  well!  The  house  deserted; 
nobody  to  welcome  me,  its  master,  when  he  brings 
such  glorious  tidings.     Ah,  here's  some  one  at  last. 

{Enter  from  window^  Grace  and  Howard  ;  from 
R.  1  E.  Hester.) 

Howard.    Ah,  father,  welcome  home  {shakes  hands), 

Amos,  Well,  how  are  you  ?  And  my  little  painter 
friend  ?  {Shakes  hands  with  Grace.)  Mrs.  Thorne, 
I'm  glad  to  meet  you  again.    {Shakes  hands  with  her.) 

Hester.     You  must  be  tired  and  hungry. 

Amos.  Hungry  ?  Why,  I'm  famishing ;  and  so  is 
my  horse.     Howard,  take  care  of  him. 

Howard.  At  once,  sir.  {Exit  c.  Grace  sits  on 
lounge.) 

Hester  {going  to  door  l).  I  will  see  that  your 
supper  is  prepared. 

Amos,  Not  just  yet.  Mrs.  Thorne,  I  have  been 
absent  in  your  interests.  Are  you  not  anxious  to  know 
the  result? 

Hester.  I  am  more  anxious  for  your  comfort,  sir.  I 
told  you  it  were  better  to  let  the  past  rest. 

Amos.  Yes ;  three  days  ago  you  surprised  me  with 
the  story  of  that  past.  I  told  you  I  would  be  yout 
friend.     I  come  to-night  to  surprise  you. 


ABOVE    THE  CLOUDS.  165 

Hester,     Surprise  me  ? 

Amos,     Yes.     Your  daughter  lives  I 

Hester.  No,  no,  it  is  impossible;  she  died  years 
ago.     I  learned  it  — 

Amos.  From  a  newspaper  report.  It  was  a  lie  ;  a 
forgery  ;  wrought  by  a  cunning  hand  to  keep  you  from 
your  child. 

Hester.  O,  Mr.  Gaylord,  can  it  be  ?  Shall  I  see  her 
again  ?     O,  dear,  dear  friend,  tell  me  all. 

Grace  (rising).  Your  pardon ;  you  do  not  desire 
company,  and  I  will  — 

Amos.  Stay  where  you  are,  Grace.  This  story  may 
interest  you,  as  showing  to  what  extent  villany  may 
be  carried  by  so  unscrupulous  a  man  as  Alfred  Thorpe^ 

Hester.     Alfred  Thorpe ! 

Grace.     My  guardian  ! 

Amos.  Mrs.  Thorne,  the  story  of  your  wrongs  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  me.  I  was  quick  to  catch  any 
suspicious  circumstance,  and  from  his  own  lips  I  gainer^ 
the  information  that  led  me  to  believe  he  was  the 
traitorous  friend. 

Hester.     He  w^as ;  he  was. 

Amoz.  Then  his  fat  friend,  Turtle,  in  an  angry  mo- 
ment gave  me  another  hint,  which  I  was  not  slow  to 
take  advantage  of.  I  took  the  stage,  and  yesterday 
alighted  at  a  pleasant  little  place  forty  miles  from  here, 
called  Greenland.  There  I  hunted  up  an  old  friend  of 
your  husband.  From  him  I  learned  that  your  husband 
had  left  a  child  with  him  years  ago ;  gave  it  to  him  to 
be  taken  care  of;  to  be  given  up  if  called  for,  — other- 
wise, to  live  and  die  as  his  child.     From  that  day  to 


156  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

this  he  has  never  seen  the  father ;  but  three  years  after, 
a  man  bearing  an  order  came  for  the  child  and  took  it 
away. 

Hester,     And  that  is  all  ? 

Amos.  No  ;  that  is  but  the  beginning.  I  traced  the 
child  to  its  new  home ;  traced  the  report  of  its  death ; 
picked  up  straggling  threads  in  the  child's  life ;  the 
name  of  its  father;  the  name  of  the  bearer  of  the 
order ;  until  I  proved  conclusively  that  your  child  is 
alive  and  well. 

Hester.  O,  Mr.  Gaylord,  can  I  find  her  ?  can  I  clasp 
her  in  my  arms  ? 

Anios.  Hester  (taking  her  hand)^  as  I  believe  in 
truth  and  justice,  believe  me,  the  words  I  am  about  to 
speak  are  the  truth,  truth  beyond  a  doubt.  The  child 
that  bore  the  name  of  Grace  Thorn e  now  bears  the 
name  of  Grace  Ingalls  {goes  down  r.). 

Grace,  O,  mother,  mother !  {Huns  into  Hester's 
arms,) 

Hester  {clasping  her  in  her  arms).  My  child  !  My 
dear,  dear  child ! 

Amos,  Well,  it  strikes  me  that  "rough  country 
life  "  is  looking  up. 

Grace  O,  I  am  so  happy  !  No  earthly  name  is  so 
dear  as  that  of  "  mother !  " 

Hester,  Save  that  of  "  child."  Grace,  my  darling,  I 
feel  this  must  be  a  reality,  —  so  much  in  your  face  that 
has  attracted  me  grows  into  the  likeness  of  the  babe 
torn  from  me,  that  I  cannot  doubt. 

Grace.  And  I  catch  the  same  tenderness  in  your 
loving  eyes  that  has  been  to  me  a  blessed  memory  for 


ABOVE  THE    CLOUDS.  157 

years!  O,  mother,  mother!  there  is  so  much  love 
springing  to  new  life  in  my  heart,  there  is  no  room  for 
doubt. 

Amos  (crossing  to  door  l.,  behind).  Now,  having 
satisfactorily  reported  the  results  of  my  journey,  with 
your  leave,  ladies,  I  will  now  satisfy  the  cravings  of  my 
appetite. 

Hester,     I  will  attend  you,  sir. 

Amos.     No,  no ;  I  will  not  inten^upt  you. 

Hester.  Nay,  I  insist.  You  have  been  so  kind  to  me, 
Mr.  Gaylord  —  such  a  dear  friend  —  (gives  her  hand) 
I  know  not  how  to  recompense  you. 

Amos.  Weil,  suppose  you  give  me  a  cup  of  tea. 
After  you,  madam.  {Opens  door,  steps  back  and  bows. 
Hester  goes  to  door,  then  turns,  stops  a  minute,  runs 
c.  and  embraces  Grace,  then  runs  off  door  l.  Amos, 
about  to  go,  turns  and  looks  at  Grace.) 

Grace  (runs  and  throws  her  arms  about  his  7iecJc). 
Heaven  bless  you,  dear  Mr.  Gaylord ;  you  have  made 
me  very,  very  happy. 

Amos  {kissing  her  forehead).  Serves  you  right, 
{Aside)  I'd  like  to  be  a  second  father  to  that  girl.  Ah, 
well,  if  I've  made  them  happy,  I  must  be  content. 

l^Exit  door  l. 

Grace.  Dear  old  man,  how  I  love  him !  Thai's  a 
very  proper  sentiment  too,  for  he's  Howard's  father ; 
and  if  — 

{Enter  Thorpe,  c.) 

Thorpe.     Grace,  —  Grace,  my  darling  {comes  down 
R.  with  outstretched  hands  ;  she  starts  back  to  l.). 
Grace.     Mr.  Thorpe ! 


15S  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Thorpe,  Why  this  coldness  ?  Have  they  turned 
you  against  me  ?  Has  my  enforced  absence  shocked 
you  ?  I  could  not  help  it ;  the  sight  of  that  man  who 
has  basely  wronged  me  — 

Grace,  Spare  yoirr  apologies,  I  beg,  Mr.  Thorpe. 
You  are  master  of  your  own  actions.  No  one  has  been 
surprised  at  your  absence.     Why  should  I  be  ? 

Thorpe,  Grace,  you  know  how  dear  you  are  to  me. 
No,  I  am  wrong ;  you  cannot.  I  have  watched  you 
from  childhood  with  all  a  father's  care.  You  have 
grown  into  beautiful  womanhood ;  and  with  no  pater- 
nal blood  to  check  the  feeling,  a  strong  and  tender  love 
has  taken  the  place  of  fatherly  interest.  Grace  Ingalls, 
1  love  you  with  the  one  mighty  passion  of  my  life. 
iVill  you  become  my  wife  ? 

Grace.  No,  no ;  do  not  press  me.  I  owe  you  much  ; 
my  heart  is  filled  with  gratitude  for  your  tender  care.  , 

Thorpe,  You  have  much  cause  to  be  grateful.  I 
have  freely  lavished  upon  you  wealth,  and  made  yoii 
renowned.  These  should  make  you  ponder  well  ere 
you  refuse  the  boon  I  ask. 

Grace,  Mr.  Thorpe,  when  three  days  ago  you 
broached  this  subject  to  my  great  surprise,  i  weighed 
well  my  duty  and  my  inclination.  I  appreciate  all 
Your  goodness ;  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  all 
your  care ;  and  could  I  repay  you  — 

Thorpe,     You  can  ;  you  must ;  —  with  your  love. 

Grace,     Impossible.      Within   an  hour  my  life  has 
wondrously  changed.     Mr.  Thorpe,  I  have  often  asked 
you  to  tell  me  of  my  parents  —  of  my  father. 
,     Thorpe,    I  have  told  you  —  he  is  dead. 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  159 

Grace,     Ancl  my  mother  ? 

Thorpe,     Slie,  too,  is  dead  {aside)  to  you. 

Grace,  And  this,  you  tell  me,  is  the  truth ;  on  your 
honor? 

Thorpe,     On  my  honor. 

Grace,  And  you  ask  me  to  marry  you  ?  Mr. 
Thorpe,  with  your  words  still  ringing  in  my  ears,  I 
refer  you  to  one  who  alone  has  the  right  to  dispose  of 
my  hand.  {Pohits  to  Hester,  who  enters  door  l.) 
My  mother.     (Howard  appears  c.) 

Thorpe  {starts  and  goes  n,).  Her  mother!  {Aside) 
Whose  fiendish  work  is  this  ? 

(Howard   comes  down ;  Grace  taTces  his  arm^  and 
they  pass  off  through  window^  r.) 

Hester.  You  hear,  Alfred  Thorpe  :  that  girl,  pure 
and  innocent,  calls  me  mother. 

Thorpe.     She  has  no  right. 

Hester.  'Tis  useless  to  deny  what  can  be  fully  proved. 
Every  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence,  from  the  time  you 
kidnnpped  my  child,  has  been  fully  tested  by  Amos 
Gaylord. 

Thorpe.     Amos  Gaylord? 

Hester.  Yes;  the  man  whom  you  sought  to  turn 
against  me  has  outwitted  you.  With  all  your  cun- 
ning, the  honest,  simple-hearted  farmer  has  wrought 
the  good  work  which  gives  the  mother  to  her  child 
again. 

Thorpe.  And  you  triumph !  How  ?  You  have 
snatched  the  girl  from  her  home  —  a  life  of  ease  and 
luxury  —  for  what?  To  share  the  hard  fate  of  a  sus- 
pected and  despised  woman. 


160  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

Hester,  Suspected  ?  Yes.  Despised  ?  No.  True, 
warm  friends  have  gathered  about  me  in  my  darkest 
hour.  I  am  strong  in  my  own  innocence,  and  shall 
live  down  the  distrust  which  you  alone  have  created. 
Ay,  more,  I  stand  between  you  and  the  woman  you 
love.  We  have  changed  places,  Alfred  Thorpe,  for  I 
now  have  the  power  to  make  your  life  as  miserable  as 
you  have  made  mine. 

Thorpe.  But  you  will  not.  Hester,  I  love  that  girl ; 
dearly,  madly  love  her.  Give  her  to  me.  Let  all 
that  has  passed  be  forgotten.  I  will  make  any  repara- 
tion you  may  ask  ;  only  give  her  to  me.  See  (kneels\ 
on  my  knees  I  ask  this  precious  boon. 

Hester.  On  your  knees  —  Ah  !  (Phil,  with  his 
arms  folded.,  his  eyes  on  the  ground  as  if  in  deep 
thought.,  enters  from  window  r.,  and  passes  out 
through  door  c,  Hester  looking  at  him..  Thorpe 
has  his  head  bowed.,  and  does  not  see  him.  Aside)  Let 
me  be  firm.  (Aloud)  Alfred  Thorpe  —  {Fhil  is  just 
passing  the  window  l.  c.  ;  he  starts^  stops^  and  icatches 
through  windov))  —  once,  trembling  in  every  limb,  and 
with  tears  streaming  down  your  cheeks,  you  made  a 
confession  to  my  husband.  Are  you  now  prepared  to 
confess  to  me  ? 

Thorpe  {rising).     What  shall  I  confess  ? 

Hester.  The  truth.  If  you  hope  for  my  consent  — 
if  you  hope  for  mercy  hereafter  —  tell  me,  why  have  you 
so  bitterly  pui*sued  me  ? 

Thorpe,  Because  I  loved  you,  Hester.  I  could  not 
bear  to  see  you  the  wife  of  that  man,  Philip  Thorne. 
You  chose  him.    From  that  moment  I  determined  you 


ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS.  161 

should  be  mine.  I  would  break  the  chain  that  bound 
you  to  him.  'Twas  easily  done  :  a  few  forged  letters, 
a  few  startling  situations,  and  the  fool  believed  you 
guilty,  and  deserted  you. 

Hester,  Did  I  not  spurn  you  from  me,  and  treat 
with  contempt  your  base  proposals  ? 

Thorpe,  You  did;  and  when  I  had  succeeded  in 
separating  you  from  your  husband,  when  I  believed 
that  you  could  be  made  to  love  me,  having  no  protec- 
tor, I  found  I  had  deceived  myself,  and  you  were  a 
pure  and  noble  woman.  O,  Hester,  I  am  a  fool  to  let 
my  tongue  betray  me  now  ;  but  on  your  words  hangs 
my  fate.  I  thought  I  loved  you  as  I  could  never  love 
another;  but  she  who  is  now  the  image  of  what  you 
once  was  has  aroused  a  mightier  passion  in  my  breast, 
and  the  love  which  was  once  yours,  a  thousand-fold 
deepened,  goes  out  to  her,  your  daughter. 

Hester,  And  what  reparation  do  you  propose  for 
me,  the  woman  you  have  robbed  of  her  husband, 
branded  with  suspicion,  and  degraded  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world  ? 

Thorpe,  Ample,  Hester.  Grace  my  wife,  our  house 
is  yours.  Beneath  my  roof  an  honored  guest,  the  past 
will  be  forgotten  as  an  idle  tale,  and  all  the  future  filled 
with  peace  and  happiness. 

Hester,     And  my  husband  ? 

Thorpe,  Poor  fool !  let  him  be  forgotten.  He  never 
loved  you.  Think  you  that,  had  I  been  lifted  to  your 
love,  I  should  have  allowed  suspicion  to  break  my  trust 
in  you?  No,  no;  he  was  no  true  man.  Let  him  rest 
here  among  the  hills.  Weak  in  intellect,  enfeebled 
11 


162  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

in  body,  he  will  soon  pass  away,  and,  like  your  wrongs, 
be  as  soon  forgotten. 

Hester,  And  you  ask  me  to  give  you  my  daughter? 
Alfred  Thorpe,  you  are  a  villain  !  The  murderer  who 
lifts  his  hand  against  his  brother  man  is  a  hero,  yea,  a 
saint,  compared  with  a  coward  who,  like  you,  lifts  his 
voice  to  sully  a  woman's  reputation !  I'd  rather  see 
my  child  again  lost  to  me  —  lost  forever !  —  than  have 
her  become  the  mate  of  such  as  you  !     ( Crosses  to  r.) 

Thorj^e,  Yet  I  will  have  her!  Mark  me,  Hester, 
she  shall  be  mine !  I  have  stooped  to  you ;  I  will 
again,  —  but  it  shall  be  as  the  eagle  stoops  to  seize 
its  piey !  Remember,  you  are  an  outcast.  The  breath 
of  suspicion,  like  the  foul  miasma,  once  it  blasts  the 
atmosphere  about  a  woman,  cannot  easily  be  shaken 
off.  You  are  weak  and  friendless ;  I,  strong  and  pow- 
erful. Once  I  set  my  schemes  afoot,  I  pause  not  till  I 
conquer.  I  will  not  now.  I'll  have  your  daughter. 
You  may  struggle  and  writhe, —  proclaim  your  inno- 
cence, but  who  —  who  will  believe  you  ? 

Phil  {rushing  on^  c).  I  will — I,  Philip  Thorne. 
{Stands  c,  with  right  hand  raised.  Thorpe  l.  ofc.) 
Right,  Alfred  Thorpe,  he  was  no  true  man ;  he  was  a 
fool.  But  now  the  light  is  breaking  in  on  his  weak 
intellect;  the  clouds  are  lifting.  Enfeebled  in  body? 
Ha!  {Seizes  Thorpe  by  throat  with  left  hand.)  Liar! 
But  a  few  days  ago,  on  a  precipitous  spur  in  yonder 
mountain,  where  but  one  could  pass,  I  met  a  fierce  and 
hungry  bear,  who  clasped  me  in  his  arms.  On  the 
brink  we  struggled  —  he  and  I  —  in  close  embrace  of 
'  life  and   death,  my  hand   upon  his  throat,  as  now  on 


ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS:         ,  163 

yours,  I  (Trove  ray  knife  into  his  heart,  anrl  flung  him 
to  the  abyss  below.  {JLifts  Thorpe,  and  throws  him 
with  right  hand^  on  stage.)  Enfeebled  —  I?  Ha,  ha, 
ha !     {Lifts  his  foot  to  trample  on  him.) 

{Enter  from  window  r.,  Grace  and  Howard  ;  by  door 
L.,  Amos.  Hester  runs  up  and  places  her  hand  on 
Phil's  right  shoulder.)  :  . 

Hester,  Philip !  {Music,  piano.  Thorpe  rises  and 
goes  to  table.) 

Phil  {looki7ig  at  her  steadily).  Hester,  innocent  and 
wronged  one,  dare  I  look  thee  in  the  fnce  again  ?  No, 
no ;  on  my  knees,  at  your  feet  —  {about  to  kneel). 

Hester  {raising  him  quickly)  No,  no,  my  husband  ; 
all  is  forgotten,  all  forgiven.  Take  me  to  your  arms; 
tell  me  you  believe  me  — 

Phil  {clasping  her  in  his  arms).  Innocent!  inno- 
cent !  My  own  dear  wife !  {Music  stops.  Thorpe 
goes  to  door.,  c.) 

Thorpe  {looking  in).  They've  won  the  game  and 
ruined  me.  But  I  held  the  reins  for  twelve  long  years! 
Let  them  remember  that.  (  Goes  off  l.  ;  stops  at  win^ 
dow  and  shakes  fist.)     Remember  that.  \_Hxit  l. 

Hester.  Dear  Philip,  that  our  union  may  be  com- 
plete, look  upon  our  daughter.  Grace,  my  child,  your 
father  {steps  to  r.). 

Grace  {running  into  Fhjlip^s  arms).     Father! 

Phil.  My  child  !  The  face  did  not  deceive  me  ;  it 
was  Hester's  —  Hester's,  as  I  knew  it  ere  — 

Hester  {goes  to  him  on  n.).  Ere  the  clouds  obscured 
it,  Philip ;  but  they've  rolled  away,  and  all  is  bright 
again. 


164  ,        ABOVE   THE   CLOUDS. 

Phil.  Wondrous  bright.  {Left  arm  about  Grace, 
right  arm  about  Hester  ;  looks  first  at  one^  then  at  the 
other,)  The  skies  are  clear,  and  the  stars  of  love  are 
shining  on  my  path. 

Amos  (r.).  Mrs.  Thorne,  we  have  beaten  the  enemy 
at  last. 

Hester  {gives  hand).  Thanks  to  you,  dear,  dear 
friend. 

Amos  {crosses  to  Phil).  Old  boy,  you're  in  luck 
(gives  his  hand).  Your  wife  is  a  treasure;  and  your 
daughter  — 

Howard  {gives  Phil  his  hand).  An  angel!  Ah, 
Phil,  you've  truly  found  out  the  world  is  what  we 
make  it.     I  wish  you  joy. 

Amos.  I  almost  envy  you.  I  wish  that  daughter 
was  mine. 

Howard.  It  will  not  be  my  fault  if  she  is  not,  fa- 
ther. 

Arnos.  Hallo!  Hallo!  What  do  you  mean,  sir? 
(Grace  gives  her  hand  to  Howard.)  Ho,  ho  !  I  un- 
derstand. Town  and  country  have  found  out  the 
truth  that  they  cannot  live  without  each  other.  {All 
stand  a  little  r.  of  c,  7iear  window^  iii  a  group  talk- 
ing.) 

Susy  {outside  c).  O  dear!  boo-hoo!  — .  (CV^/m^.) 
It's  a  shame ! 

{Enter  Susy,  c,  with  her  apron  to  her  eyes.) 

Amos.     Hallo,  Susy  !     What's  the  matter  ? 
Susy.     O  dear !     I  ■ 
a  shame  —  so  it  is. 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  165 

Amos,  So  do  I,  Susy,  whatever  it  is.  Who's  been 
plaguing  you  ? 

/Susj/,  Chips  —  and  —  and — boo-hoo,  Mr.  Nay  — 
J^ay  —  Naylor  —  been  —  been  fighting  just  awful. 

Amos.     Fighting  ?     What  about  ? 

Susi/,  Me,  sir !  I  —  I  —  I  tried  to  stop  'em,  but 
—  but  —  they  wo  —  wo  —  wouldn't,  and  they're  all 
bru  —  bruised. 

{Enter  Nat,  c.  /  his  clothes  are  torn  ;  his  necktie  hang- 
ing ;  one  eye  blacked;  one  cheek  puffed  out ;  face 
scratched,  and  hair  ruffled.     Comes  down  r.) 

N'at,      Upon  the  moonlit  plain  we  met  as  foes  : 

He  blacked  my  eye  —  I  flattened  out  his  nose. 

Impromptu.     Ahem ! 

{Enter  Chips,  c,  in  an  equally  forlorn  condition^  his 
nose  bleeding.,  face  scratched.,  <jbc.  Both  characters 
should  present  signs  of  having  fought  long  and 
well.) 

Chips  {coming  down  l.).  Yes,  darn  you,  you're  a 
spunky  chap,  for  all  your  loose  rhymes. 

Amos.     What  does  this  mean  ?    Explain  yourselves. 

Chips.  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  say.  I  was  jest  goin' 
by- 

Susy.  Now  stop.  Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself 
Chips?     (Amos  goes  back  to  group.,  r.) 

Chips,     Don't  care :  he  called  me  a  booby. 

Nat.     I  withdraw  the  appellation.  Chips. 

Susy.     There  !     Now  shake  hands  and  be  friencU. 

Chips,     I  don't  want  to. 


166  ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS. 

,  Sus^/,  You  must.  Come  here,  Mr.  Naylor.  (  Takes 
his  hand  and  leads  him  over  to  Chips,  l.)  Now  shake 
hands.  Confess  you  have  made  fools  of  yourselves,  and 
become  friends. 

Nat  {holds  out  his  hand),     Fm  willing. 

Chip  of  a  stubborn  block,  my  dexter  take  — 
We  will  be  friends  — we  will  — 

Chips.  O,  'nuff  said,  —  shake.  (  They  shake  hands^ 

{Enter  Lucretia,  r.) 

Lucretia.     Has  anybody  seen  my  Titus  ? 

{Enter  Turtle /rom  door  l.,  a  napkin  about  hisneck^ 
a  huge  slice  of  pie  in  one  hand^  and  a  piece  of  cheese 
in  the  other^  eating.  Turtle  crosses  stage;  at  the 
same  time  Grace  goes  to  table  c,  and  sits,  Susy 
sits  in  arm-chair  l.,  keeping  up  a  dumb  shoio  of  con- 
versation  with  Chips  on  her  right  and  Nat  on  her 
left.  Howard  goes  up  to  vase  of  flowers  in  the 
passage.) 

.  Turtle,     Were  you  looking  for  me,  Miss  Lucretia  ? 

Lucretia,  Yes,  Titus ;  I  was  hungering  fc  r  your 
society,  thirsting  for  the  music  of  your  voice. 

Turtle.  Hungering  and  thirsting.  Now,  that's  true 
poetry  —  the  language  of  the  appetite.  So  was  I.  Ah, 
Lucretia,  the  cold  shoulder  has  done  its  work.  While 
it  assuaged  my  appetite,  it  filled  my  soul  with  remorse 
(fiites  pie).  Forgive  me,  Lucretia,  I  have  awakened 
to  a  realizing  sense  of  your  virtues  {bites  cheese).  It 
brought  to  my  mind  the  time  when  I  sat  at  your  table 
and  partook  of  a  hot  shoulder  cooked  by  your  own  fail 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS.  167 

hands.  It  was  luscious  !  May  I  not  hope  that  your 
fair  hands  may  feed  me  —  no,  lead  nie  —  to  many  such 
feasts  ? 

Lucretia,     O  Titus,  we  may  be  happy  yet.     So  ro- 
mantic. 
(Phil  stands  r.  c,  with  his  arm  about  Hester's  waist^ 

looking  off  u.  Moonlight  on  them,  Amos  comes  down 

c.    Howard  comes  down  to  table,  with  flowers  hi  his 

hand.) 

Amos,     Well,  Susy,  are  all  your  troubles  over? 

Susy,  Yes,  father.  Chips  and  I  have  made  up  our 
minds  to  —  to  —     You  tell  him,  Chips. 

Chips.  O,  certainly.  Mr.  Gaylord,  I  was  telling 
Susy — no,  Susy  was  telling  me.  Well,  I'll  come  in 
and  tell  you  to-morrow,  —  when  I'm  going  by. 

Nat,     When  going  by,  he*ll  lift  tlie  latch, 

To  let  you  know  they've  made  a  match. 

^mpromptu.     Ahem ! 

Amos,  Ha,  ha  !  I  see.  Well,  I  shall  be  at  home. 
(  Goes  up  c.)     Phil,  old  fellow,  why  so  silent  ? 

Phil,  For  wonder.  Amos,  an  hour  t*go,  life  was  a 
dreary  waste  to  me.  How  quick  the  change.  There  a 
daughter,  and  here  a  wife  —  the  golden  links  of  long 
ago  put  on  again  to  bind  me  willing  captive ! 

Hester,  We  are  both  to  blame.  Had  we  trusted 
in  each  other,  all  that  has  marred  our  lives  we  should 
have  escaped.  We  have  been  tuughtthe  lesson  of  fiith 
through  trial  and  tribulation  in  the  lost  years.  Re- 
united, we  will  take  it  to  our  hearts.  Now  all  is  bright 
again. 


168  ABOVE  THE   CLOUDS. 

Phil,  Bright  as  yonder  peak,  my  home  no  longer, 
Hester,  here  in  this  bustling  world  below  I'll  rear  again 
our  happy  home;  and  though  the  tempest  has  beaten 
about  us,  and  darkness  obscured  our  path,  —  with  con- 
fidence and  trust  to  lead  and  guide,  with  strength  and 
courage  to  subdue,  we  will  journey  on.  The  gloom 
dispersed,  the  shadows  rolled  away,  the  light  of  love 
upon  our  pathway,  with  Heaven's  help  we  will  tri- 
umphantly lift  ourselves  —  Above  the  Clouds. 

Tableau. — Phil  r.  c,  arm  about  Hester's  waisty 
right  hand  pointing  off  through  window  ;  moonlight  on 
them,,  Amos  near  door  c,  watching  them,  Grace 
seated  at  table^  looking  up  at  Howard,  who  stands  hack 
of  table  and  places  flowers  in  her  hair,  Susy  in  arm' 
chair  l.,  with  Chips  leaning  over  it.  Nat  extreme  l., 
with  a  pencil  and  note-book.^  scratching  his  head  with 
pencil^  as  though  tryiiig  to  make  a  verse.  Turtle 
LucRETiA  extreme  r.,  arm  in  arm^  looking  at  Ph 

\^Music^  and  Slow  Curtain,"] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

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f!':^P6 


.wv,0 


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Gaylamount 

Pamphlet 

Binder 

Gaylord  Bros.,  Inc. 

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,IVI.  Reg.  U.S.  Pat. Off. 


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